Puppies Redux: AU 401 When Irish Eyes Are Smiling
by Jedi's Pal
Summary: This is a REPOSTING from our shipper wish fulfilment series that changes up the Season Four premiere starting with S3 E9 Long Way Back. This is a REPOSTING of "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies" (Chapters 10-12 ) and "Reconnecting" (Chapters 4, 9 & 16-19), combining together those T and M rated stories so it can be read in one comprehensive continuous storyline for the 4.01 AU
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ _Thank you to all the Burners for your reviews of AU 5.01 "High Risk, High Reward" and we appreciate the enthusiasm for this next reposting. It's one of our favorite re-imaginings of Michael and Fiona's lives in an alternate universe._

 _Besides new chapters of "Be Brave Little Angel"_ _and the next installment of the current 2.01 AU story for "Reconnecting,"_ _we'll be working on an update to "True Believer" hopefully in time for the fourth anniversary of the end of Burn Notice._

 _This is a REPOST of Chapters 10-12 of_ _ **Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies**_ _and Chapters 4, 9 & 16-19 of __**Reconnecting**_ _. With Season Four, we wondered how different it would have been if Fiona had succeeded in going home._

 _So, for our AU for 4.01, it begins after the events of S3.16 but with a couple of important changes to the original plot line. In this story, during the events of S3.09,_ _"_ Long Way Back _," Michael kills Thomas O'Neill before he can pass word back to Ireland that Michael McBride is really an American spy named Michael Westen. And then later on, when Michael gets wrapped up in the mischief Mason Gilroy is plotting, then Fiona leaves Miami to return home to Ireland for reasons which will become clear by the end of this chapter._

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 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

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 _Unknown Location, Republic of Ireland, 2010_

 _Barely conscious, cold and wet, only staying upright because of the men on either side of him gripping his arms tightly, half carrying, half dragging him, to whatever fate they had in store for the unwelcome guest to their shores. In his current condition, Michael Westen thought the shackles on his wrists and ankles and the hood pulled over his head all seem a bit excessive. But even blind and beaten, he could sense the closed in walls of long hallways made of concrete._

Cold leached into Michael's bones and he woke up with a start, unable to contain the loud groan which forced its way past his swollen lips when he sat up too quickly. Pain shot through his body, from what he suspected was a cracked rib or two, but just as bad was the agonizing throb concentrated mostly around the left side of his face. His jaw felt swollen and ached mercilessly, while his eye was puffed up and he could feel the pull of dried blood on his cheek and the taste copper filled his mouth. Falling back onto the cold hard floor of his prison cell, he curled up in a ball and waited for the pain to ease.

Sometime later, Michael tentatively opened his one good eye and attempted to look around. All he could see at first was a brilliant whiteness: shiny, white tiled walls and a whitewashed concrete floor. _Where the hell was he?_

With a faint whimpering groan, he made another, slower attempt to sit up and that was when he realized several things at once. The reason why he felt so cold was because whoever had taken him had stripped away his clothing, leaving him in just his boxers. There was a burn mark over his heart from what he guessed was a stun gun and lastly, only when he raised a hand to examine the damage to his chest, he noticed he still wore the shackles on his wrists and ankles which had been snapped on earlier during his capture.

 _Vaughn was locked away. They got him… they got the whole organization…_ _There was nobody left._

Shaking his head and then wincing at the added agony that particular movement brought on, Michael fought against a rising tide of nausea. _But if not Vaughn, then who…?_

 _Things had been getting out of hand with Mason Gilroy. Sam had been pissed with him for getting into a car with the freelance psychopath and, after helping the British hired killer steal a fifty caliber machine gun from a group of white supremists, he was beginning to agree with his best friend's analysis of the situation; maybe it was time to hand the whole affair over to the FBI._

 _He had known it wasn't going to be easy to convince Agents Lane and Harris to take an interest in anything_ he _brought them, but he'd had to try. He'd met them beside the Miami River, the younger, taller Agent Lane taking the lead in their disbelief._

" _Let's get this straight. You want us to stop Gilroy, who no one can prove is in the country?"_

 _Followed by Agent Harris joining in, "From hi-jacking a plane that no country will acknowledge. That's rich, Westen."_

 _The only time they had shown any interest had been when he had mentioned the gun. "Gilroy is in possession of a fifty caliber machine gun. I have first-hand knowledge."_

 _But as soon as he admitted he hadn't got any other information, they had jumped in their car and told him to stop wasting their time._

" _A little suggestion for you... Next time you want to cry wolf, do it at a cafe at South Beach, when you're buying."_

 _He'd been left with no choice but to carry on alone. Well, not exactly alone… Sam was there with him all the way. He still had no idea how the former SEAL had managed it. But two days later, when he was being hunted down by every agency with an acronym, Sam Axe had worked a little bit of magic._

 _Sitting in a Dade County holding cell after his running battle with Simon Escher, he had been surprised as hell when all of a sudden the door opened to reveal Agents Lane and Harris. They had a deal for him and he had no time to think about it._

" _Long story short, Westen, we've done a bit of investigating on our own and we believe you. There is a team upstairs flashing all kinds of high level clearance at the front desk demanding that the cops hand over you and Escher to them." Harris took a breath._

 _Lane opened a case he was carrying and held out what looked like a test tube._

" _Have you ever heard of micro RFID trackers?" The younger of the two agents asked._

" _Special Forces use them to keep tabs on terrorists. They're the size of a grain of rice." He'd peered at the test tube._

" _No, they make them smaller now, much smaller."_

" _You want to tag me?"_

" _That's right, once you step outside, we should be able to follow you via a satellite link. We'll be able to see where they take you and, if it turns out these guys are part of some sort of illegal covert organization..."_

" _You guys will be able to sweep them all up and take all the glory," he had finished Agent Harris' sentence._

" _So, are you in, Westen?"_

" _Sure." He guessed with one half of Miami blown up and the other half on fire, he had finally got the two FBI agents to take him seriously._

 _He had been held by Vaughn Anderson in a tiny prison cell for five days before a Special Forces team had assaulted the document processing site in the depths of the Chilean jungle._

Michael looked around the bare room again. _That had been four months ago, so where was he now?_

As his head cleared, he scanned the room more closely and that was when he caught sight of a large meat hook dangling over a metal grate in the center of the room. Following the hook, he saw it was suspended nearly seven feet up in the air by a short length of chain and then a thick piece of rope which ran through a pulley.

At the sight, a cold pit opened in Michael's stomach. _He knew exactly where he was_. He just didn't know how they got to him so quickly. He was sure he had been careful. Nobody apart from Sam knew he had left Miami to risk crossing the wild Atlantic Ocean in the middle of winter for the unwelcoming shores of Northern Ireland.

 _After his release from Vaughn's secret prison, he had spent a month answering questions, mostly being asked by a young CIFA agent with a sharp mind and a very large dossier on another rival organization which had been in direct conflict with Vaughn's operation. It had taken all his self-control not to be sucked into helping the younger agent go after this second group._

 _But, after so long being locked up and treated like a criminal by the very people who should have been grateful for his interference, he had had enough. In truth, all he had wanted was to be with a certain Irishwoman who had disappeared off the grid completely. All he knew was she had returned to Dublin and then, a month later, she had vanished from sight._

 _It had taken Sam three weeks to arrange a full set of ID for him and another month to find the right Union official at Miami Port Authority to bribe into getting him a job on a freighter traveling to Ireland. The whole time he freely admitted he had been an impatient pain in the ass, so much so that, in the end, Sam had gone out and found him a couple of side jobs just to keep him busy and out of the way. A lawyer in trouble with the toughest biker gang in South Florida and then, while researching for the right man to get him aboard a ship to Ireland, they had ended up helping out a security guard who was having trouble with a local wise guy._

 _But in the end, he had made the journey to the Emerald Isle on a cargo ship, docking in Derry Harbor almost four months to the day from the arrest of Vaughn Anderson. From Derry, he had journeyed south with a lorry driver on his way to deliver a forty foot container full of televisions to Dublin. His plan had been simple: stay out of sight and try to make contact with Sean Glenanne and pray the Irishman still thought of him as a friend._

Michael woke up again. He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep. He guessed it was a result of the cold and a possible concussion from the blows he had taken during his capture. He knew he should be thinking of a way to escape the predicament he found himself in. The sound of his stomach rumbling and the dryness of his mouth telling him he had already started to lose track of time.

Wiping a hand over his eyes, Michael climbed up to his feet. If he just lay down and gave into the cold and his fatigue, he was going to end up too weak to fight when they finally came for him. He seriously doubted there was a way out, but he had to at least look and try to come up with a way of breaking free. If he was in the hands of the man he thought he was, a quick death trying to escape was far more preferable to the waiting around to be tortured.

Shuffling around the room, the chains on his ankles clinking in a sharp reminder of how much trouble he was in, he soon discovered there was nothing he could use, not even a single loose tile, to help him get free. And all the while his eyes kept getting drawn back to the hook hanging down from the ceiling. He couldn't die like that, suspended in the air like a piece of meat. Maybe he would get the chance to ask to see her one last time.

" _I know you don't like what I'm doing. But you know it's just about the job? You know that, right?"_

He'd tried for maybe the fiftieth time to explain why he was selling his soul to Tom Strickler and she had given him a look he hadn't seen since his first time in Dublin; she had never understood why he did what he did.

" _Right… It's about patriotism and duty and the scared call of - whatever."_

Of course, that hadn't been the end of it. At every opportunity she had tried to let him know how unhappy she was with what he was doing. But he just hadn't been paying attention.

" _Why must everything you do revolve around getting your old job back?"_

He should have listened to her, he knew that now. But twenty-twenty hindsight was a wonderful thing. She had even tried beating some sense into him. But that hadn't worked either. Was he really that dense?

" _I know you're not thrilled about me reaching out to the intelligence community, but..." As she pounded into the pad he held in front of his body, grateful for its protection._

" _I don't have a problem with it..." Back fist… roundhouse kick which nearly took his head off, sidekick to the center of the pad driving him backwards._

" _You want your old job back..." A rapid series of killer punches._

" _I said I'd be supportive..." Reverse kick._

" _Not a problem..." Two full power front kicks, the last one aimed at his groin._

He had been oh so grateful for the pad - and for the knock on the door.

Somewhere along the way, Fiona had given up on him and in the end she had left, running all the way back to the safety of her family, knowing it was the one place he couldn't follow her.

He wiped a hand over his eyes, determined not to break. He had to stay strong and figure a way out of this cell and the immediate threat of a long drawn out death. He was cold, hungry and rapidly becoming dehydrated, desperation was setting in because he knew the longer he stayed imprisoned, the less chance he stood of ever getting away.

Then suddenly the sound of hollow footsteps outside his cell caught Michael's attention. This could be his only chance to escape, or if escape was impossible, maybe his gaoler would be willing to listen to his pleas. _If Liam Glenanne was going to make good on his promise from all those years ago, he at least wanted a chance to say goodbye._

The locks scraped back and then the door creaked open as Michael hurriedly got to his feet. Two men entered the room, with balaclavas hiding their features and hair. As soon as they cleared the door, they split up, approaching him from opposite sides. Each move they made was swift and coordinated, ready to deal with any resistance their prisoner cared to offer.

"Sean?" Michael choked on the name as he thought he recognized the taller and slimmer of the men. "There's no need for this..."

He tried to keep both men in his sight, but it wasn't easy with the leg irons interfering with his ability to maneuver. "I'll come quietly..." They both held long sticks that looked suspiciously like cattle prods. "Just let me speak to F-"

Michael went down, his vision greying as he lay convulsing on the hard concrete floor. Before he had a chance to recover, his attackers were on him, freeing his hands but only long enough to drag his arms behind his back before securing them again.

"S-Sean, I-" Michael got no further as his mouth was sealed shut with a strip of duct tape and then, much to his horror, a head bag was pulled over his head and the draw string pulled tight around his neck to stop him pulling it off.

"It'll all be over soon, Westen," a harsh voice informed him in a matter of fact tone.

Then he was pulled to his feet and half carried, half dragged out of his cell and along a hallway, his bare feet catching on the rough surface. Seconds later, he was hit by an icy cold breeze and the feel of concrete under his feet replaced by the sensation of a gravel path.

He flinched and resisted when his tormentors picked him up and then threw him down on his side in what he guessed was the back of a panel van. He heard the solid thud of doors being shut and then the grumbling noise of a diesel engine starting up.

Michael lay still while trying to work out if he was alone in the back of the van. If he was alone he might be able to wriggle round and maybe find something to use to help him break free. Hearing no sounds which would give away the presence of a guard, he made a small move to stretch out and instantly felt the light touch of a heavy boot on his thigh.

"Don't ya be givin' us trouble har, Westen. Ya had plenty o' warnin' not ta come back."

Michael closed his eyes. He was sure now; one of his captors was definitely Sean Glenanne, for all of the Irishman's earlier words of friendship.

 _He had just finished fixing a clean dressing to Fiona's bullet injured arm when he had heard the rooms other patient stir._

" _Michael, get over here," Sean had called out from the larger of Madeline's couches. "So, it's Westen, now is it?" he had growled out._

" _It has been for a while. I owe you an explanation." He had expected recriminations and anger, but instead all he had gotten was acceptance._

" _Back in Ireland, thar war a lotta questions about if ye war one o' us. I always thought ya war... Now, I know I wa' right."_

" _Thank you, Sean."_

" _Ya have nuttin' ta thank me fer. Ya got ta O'Neill befer he could out ya ta his contacts in Ireland. Our sister takin' up wit' an American spy... If he'd made tha call, or if he'd been arrested, thar woulda been hell ta pay..." He'd then looked a bit uncomfortable. "Am gonna have ta tell tha family... Ya can never set foot in Ireland ag'in, ya know thot?"_

Michael had been counting on Sean's goodwill, but he had underestimated the force of Liam's personality and the control the oldest of the Glenanne boys exerted over the whole clan.

As bleak as his future looked, Michael still tried to hold on to some hope. The fact they were moving him was a bonus in some ways. While in that room he had been worried about torture. At least now it seemed they were more interested in just executing him. _Fiona couldn't know what the head of the family was doing._

Michael worked on loosening the piece of duct tape covering his mouth, while at the same time not drawing any unwanted attention his way. _If he could talk to Sean, convince his one-time friend to get word to his sister...Whatever happened, he would never believe Fiona had anything to do with what was happening to him now._

"Here, we wouldnae want ya ta catch a cold." Michael flinched and then realized he had been covered by what felt like a sleeping bag. "We've gotta a long way ta go yet."

It wasn't long before the swaying of the van and the soft rumble of the engine lulled the weakened spy into an uneasy sleep. _Maybe this was what he deserved?_ He hadn't realized what he had lost until she had sneaked away. _He'd_ had no idea what it felt like to have somebody you care about disappear without so much as a word.

" _This moving out of town thing... If you're trying to make a point…"_

 _She had as good as given away her car. That had been his first clue to how serious she was about leaving Miami. Up to that point, he hadn't truly believed she was going to abandon him. Fiona had somehow become a constant in his life, an anchor he came cling to when the sea of deceit he was swimming in became too much or he became lost._

" _I'm not trying to make a point. Michael. I'm trying to make a change. I'm going home. I told my mother to expect me."_

" _We have one fight and you decide to go back to Ireland?"_

" _This isn't about one fight, Michael. If you didn't see this coming, you weren't paying attention. You're too worried about your own future for there to one for us."_

 _He had taken it as another one of her sly digs and, at the time, he was getting sick of her lack of support. He had been so very close to getting everything he wanted; everything he thought he wanted._

" _I'm not doing this for me. Fiona, I'm out in the cold and the longer I stay there, the more I endanger everyone in my life."_

" _Don't you pretend this is about us. It's about YOU...Which is fine... It's – it's just time I – I did what I need to do, too."_

 _He had thought when he killed Tom Strickler that he had proven to her once and for all how much she meant to him. He had thrown it all away for her, yet she had still run away._

 _Going after Mason Gilroy had been different; the man had needed to be stopped. Why couldn't she have understood that? And why back to Ireland where he couldn't follow if he wanted to live?_

Michael woke up as the van left the smooth surface of a road and o to what felt like a track as it began to bounce and slide about before finally coming to a stop. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. _Was this it? Had he arrived at his execution spot?_ He couldn't help jerking away when a hand grabbed hold of his arm and then the surprise he felt when the handcuffs were undone, followed by the leg irons.

Blasts of icy cold air made him gasp, revealing to his captors that he had managed to free himself of the duct tape gag.

"Get dressed, Westen... Ya try anyt'ing funny an' we'll knock ya out ag'in."

On hearing the door slam shut, Michael ripped off the head bag and drew in a sharp breath of fresh air. Shuddering in the cold, he quickly grabbed up the clothes that have been left for him, realizing they were his own.

Throwing on his jeans, under shirt, the thick cream-colored woolen jumper, it was only when he reached for his footwear he saw there were no socks and the laces had been removed from his boots. If he attempted to run, he would be slowed down by his footwear or, if he discarded them, by bare feet on what was undoubtedly going to be unfriendly ground.

A bang on the side of the vehicle jerked him back to the moment and then the door opened. "C'mon, ar' ya not ready yet? Get out har now."

Cautiously, he stepped out into the frosty air of an early morning in the depths of the countryside. The two men who had escorted him from his cell stood wide apart, holding long barreled shotguns across their chests. Then he saw the man he had known was behind his imprisonment all along standing by a wooden gate, his hands thrust into the deep pockets of his long overcoat.

 _"Thot is Liam Glenanne, head o'the family now and one o' the most feared IRA interrogators. If ye ever see thot man other than over a bowl of stew at the family dinner, yer cover's blown and yer about t'die a most unpleasant death."_ The words of his first MI6 handler came back to him from all those years ago, before he had even set eyes on Miss Fiona Glenanne.

For a full minute, the two men stared at each other. To Michael's eyes, the older man looked no different than how he had done twelve years earlier: lean, with sharp angular features and icy cold pale blue eyes which seemed to pierce the soul.

"Walk wit' me, Westen," the Irishman ordered brusquely, turning away.

Knowing he had no choice, Michael joined the older man and they walked through the gate and onto a large grass covered field.

"So, are you walking me to my grave, Liam?" Michael didn't bother hiding his American accent; he knew to do so would have been taken as an insult.

"I told ya, ya couldnae be wit' me sister… I tol' ya ta stay away, an' if ya ever came back, I'd put ya up on a hook like I did thot piece o' turncoat scum who ya an' yar Brit friends used ta get close ta us."

Michael bowed his head. Ever since he had first woken up and realized where he was being held, he had been fighting to keep the image of his first MI-6 handler hanging off that very same meat hook out of his mind. Swallowing, he pushed the grisly memory to the very back of his mind and turned his attention to his most pressing problem.

He had two men behind him and Liam Glenanne at his side, the ground around them was rough and uneven and he had no laces in boots. At the present, he guessed his chances of successfully making a run for freedom had to be close to zero. So, before resorting to drastic methods, Michael set about convincing Liam that he had broken his banishment only to come for Fiona.

"Before you, ah, well - you know..."

"Ya wanta see Fiona," the older man interrupted. "Mabbe she don' wanta see ya. Have ya thought about thot? Ya hurt har more than ya know."

Michael ran his tongue over his dry lips. He had no idea how long he had been without food or water, but along with his cracked ribs and bruised face, hunger and dehydration were all taking a toll on his ability to think clearly.

"Liam, I'm out, completely out. The organization which employed me..." He paused wishing he knew how much knowledge the older man had about his situation. "They're not going to reinstate me. I left Miami to find her... Please, I have to speak to her."

A small piece of hope raised its head when Liam stopped and his pale blue eyes stared into Michael's deeper blue orbs. "Ya still love har, dontcha?"

Michael blushed and nodded. He had been a fool to ever deny how he felt about this man's sister. "Yeah... I think - yes, I do," he finally confirmed.

Liam nodded back, his features still set in grim lines. "Love isn't easy fer tha likes of ya an' me. It's a weakness which yar enemies kin an' will use against ya... I've spent me whole life protecting tha ones I love - an' ta be honest wit' ya, Westen, I never thought ya had it in ya to do tha job."

"I'm done. I've left it all behind, for her, for Fi... I risked everything coming here..."

"Yer done cuz they've thrown ya out, man. Yar country is done wit' ya, not you wit' it," came the blunt retort.

Michael sighed, not ready to give up. "All I want is Fiona. I want to see her, please." He laughed, a reckless release of all his pent up tension. "A last request if you like."

"Ya cannae have jus'-" Liam stopped talking and combed his fingers through his hair, clearly angry and frustrated. Then he drew himself up. "Put yar hands behind yar back, Westen," he ordered coldly.

"What?"

"I'm done talkin' wit ya. Don't have me call Sean an' Colin ta make ya."

 _Shit! This wasn't how it was supposed to end._

Michael half turned, seeking a way out of what he was sure was about to be his death. He had only taken his gaze away from the eldest Glenanne for the briefest of seconds, but it was long enough for the older man to deliver a blow that stunned the dark haired spy and knocked him to his knees. He felt the cuffs go on and was then hauled back to his feet.

"Ya have ta do things tha hard way, dontcha Westen?" Liam gripped his arm tightly and gave him a harsh shake which nearly sent him to his knees again. "Now walk through thot gate o'er thar and ya see thot house down tha way? It's up ta har if tha cuffs come off, an' if ya go or stay."

Michael heart leapt at the knowledge Fiona was so close. He went to move off, but Liam caught hold of his arm again. "If she says fer ya ta leave, ya'll do it. If ya give har any grief, I have a boat waiting in tha harbor ready ta drop ya in Iraqi waters. I hear tell thar's lots o' folks out thar wanting a piece o' Michael Westen. Ya give Fiona any trouble an' thot's where ya'll end up."

He walked along the mud track, slipping and sliding and unable to balance properly because of the very tight handcuffs preventing him using his arms. What the hell was Fiona doing staying in some little farmers' cottage in the middle of nowhere?

As he got nearer to the white stone built cottage, he found his way barred by a gate with a lever he couldn't reach. He was just thinking that he would have to climb over and risk falling on his backside when a small figure dressed in a heavily padded anorak, over the top of sweat pants tucked into black wellington boots, appeared on the other side.

The gate swung open and he stepped through, trying to get a look at the figure's features which were hidden by a large deep hood.

"Fi?" he questioned while waiting for the padlock to be locked back in place.

"Michael," she replied softly, confirming his suspicions. "Come with me."

"The handcuffs? Please, Fi, it's not necessary."

"I'll decide what's necessary," she replied sharply and walked ahead of him, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Entering the farmyard, he was met by three large, angry white geese that honked and hissed noisily at him, but Fiona shooed them away. He was becoming more and more confused. This wasn't the Fiona he knew. Living in the middle of nowhere, a mud covered farmyard guarded by geese… He caught sight of a couple of skinny semi-feral farm cats watching him from under a large bush which smelt of rosemary, their yellow eyes fixed on him as an unknown in their territory.

Inside the cottage, he was hit by a wall of heat radiating from a large blazing wood fire burning in a stone hearth. Squinting, as he tried to take in all the details of the dimly lit place Fiona was calling home, he noted a small two-seater, cloth covered couch, a rocking chair and a several large wooden cabinets filling the cramped space.

Hearing a soft growl, he looked back over to the fire and saw that what he had thought was a large fur rug was in fact two shaggy coated Belgium shepherd puppies stretched out enjoying the heat.

"Fi?" He was thoroughly confused by Fiona's appearance and living conditions and was getting sick of nobody answering his questions.

"Sit down, Michael," she spoke in a cool flat tone as she took off her anorak and wellingtons, revealing for the first time a fuller figure than he was used to seeing.

"This isn't necessary, you know that. You know me."

"Yes, I know you, Michael, but -" She bit her lip and moved towards another room, opening the door. "Just sit down. I have something to show you first. Rose..."

He peered across the room as Fiona disappeared from view, her voice easily reaching him from the other room as she continued to talk.

"D'ya remember that night, after we had finished helping Spencer with his 'alien' problem, and you had finally got your new best friend, Diego Garza where you wanted him? When I made you your favorite meal and in return you informed me if I loved you, I should _damn well_ _want for you_ what you wanted for yourself?"

She was walking back towards him, holding something wrapped in a pale blue blanket. Michael gulped and shifted uneasily… _No, this was not possible..._ It was then he caught his first glimpse of another figure he recognized as Sean's wife, Rosanna, carrying a similar bundle, this one wrapped in pink.

"That was the night I was going to tell you I was pregnant." Fiona's words came to him, but it was as if he was hearing them from a long way away. "After that night, I tried to give you time. But first it was Strickler and then afterwards… After you had _promised_ me you were done trying to get your old job back, you turned your back on me yet again to go after Mason Gilroy and that was when I knew you would never change."

They were in front of him now, both women scowling up at him, as if waiting to pass judgement on his soul. "And in the end, I realized I wasn't going to be able to hide my condition much longer... I was sixteen weeks, Michael, sixteen weeks pregnant and you were so wrapped up in stopping another great conspiracy, you hadn't even noticed." She shook her head. "So I came home."

Michael couldn't speak. He stared at the two tiny bundles and the unfriendly faces of the two women holding them before him. Two babies, one baby was more than he ever planned for, but two?

As his tired mind tried to make sense of the bomb which had just been dropped on his head, all that kept repeating was the thought of two babies… two tiny, innocent defenseless pieces of him and Fiona...

Starved, dehydrated, beaten to hell, living under the very real threat of immediate death and now this, two babies…

His mind did the only thing it could to protect his sanity... It shut down and he fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _This is the second part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 11 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

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 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 2**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Unknown Location, Republic of Ireland, 2010_

"I dunno why yer insistin' we hang around here, brudder. Ya know damn well she ain't gonna be throwin' ham out any time soon." Seamus Glenanne strode over to where his older brother stood leaning against the gate leading to the farmyard.

"I thought I tol' ya ta wait wit' yar boat." Liam scowled at his gunrunning sibling before turning his piercing gaze back onto the farmhouse.

"Aye, an' thot's where I wa' 'til a half hour ago. She's all fuelled up an' ready ta go fer whot it's worth... Can ya not jus' leave em alone, Liam? Me boy's ar' watchin' fram afar. 'Sides ya know damn well he'd never lay a hand ta har." He blew out a cloud of smoke and then dropped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground before using the toe of his boot to grind it into the earth.

The older man glared as Seamus calmly stared back at him, before reaching for the latch on the gate as if he was about to go through and then, with a huff of annoyance, he changed his mind.

 _When Fiona had stepped off Seymour Talbot's transport plane, the last strand of his good will towards Michael McBride had snapped. He had known who McBride was for months before the American had left Fiona first time. Weeks of interrogating a piece of turncoat scum being employed by the British had revealed that Fiona Glenanne was being used as an asset by MI-6. But he hadn't breathed a word to anybody about what he had discovered._

 _Instead, he had watched from a distance as Fiona and her lover had set about ripping apart the Real IRA. For a while, he had even held out a hope of turning the spy to their side. But then others in the PIRA had started asking awkward questions and, in the end, it hadn't been up to him... But now all the old suspicions and hatreds were back. The American was CIA and a pawn of MI-6. He was untrustworthy and, by abandoning Fiona when she was pregnant with his children, he had shown he had no honor._

"Fine... Fer now," Liam growled, reluctantly turned away from the house where his sister was introducing her undeserving and hopefully soon to be ex-lover to his newborn offspring.

The two men walked back along the path to where Seamus had parked his large Mitsubishi Shogun. "Ya jus' pissed cuz he fooled ya... Tha _great_ Liam Glenanne never noticed his sister wa' datin' a Yank spy." Seamus laughed and then stumbled forward as his big brother clipped him around the back of the head.

"Tha man cannae be trusted. He left her alone ta have tham babbies jus' like he left her befer an' he'll do it ag'in." Liam grumbled.

"So why'd ya let ham live in tha first place? Why even bother ta tell har we had ham? If ya really wanted ham gone, he'd be _gone_."

The oldest Glenanne nodded thoughtfully. It was true. If he had wanted to, he could have killed the American and had Seamus dump the body at sea and not one of his brothers would have said a word against him, not even Sean. And if he had gone as far as inviting a few witnesses to the execution from the PIRA executive council, it might have even helped with their present troubles. It would have certainly shut up all the doubters gossiping about Fiona's loyalty to the cause. But killing Michael McBride, or Westen, would have broken the heart of his one remaining sister and he couldn't have that.

So, now he was stuck thinking of other ways to placate certain members of the ruling council. It was an unfortunate fact that even though Thomas O'Neill had been a murdering bastard who cared more about causing bloody headlines in the newspapers than freeing Ireland from British rule, the O'Neill family still had a few powerful friends who were calling for the blood of Fiona Glenanne and her murdering boyfriend Michael McBride. Plus, he still hadn't hunted down all the men who had been waiting to bid in the auction O'Neill had set up to sell Fiona to the highest bidder.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease a growing headache, Liam stopped beside his brother's large four by four and noticed for the first time that Seamus had already sent Colin and Sean off with the panel van.

"Yar boys are keepin' watch?" He lifted up a set of binoculars and scanned the farm perimeter, easily spotting Seamus's oldest son, Patrick, sitting on the top floor of one of the barns, his long legs dangling over the edge and holding a high powered rifle in his hands.

"Aye, Pat's on duty now an' Sean is gonna stay o'er t'night wit' Rosie ta keep an eye t'ings inside."

Finally satisfied that their sister and the newest additions to the Glenanne clan were being watched over to his own high standards, Liam took his eyes off the farmhouse and climbed into the waiting vehicle.

Then, as Seamus started to manoeuver the large car back onto the narrow country lane, Liam began to speak again "Am gonna be in Dublin fer a few days an' then I've gotta attend a meetin' in Belfast. Ya be sure ta call me if he gives har any trouble."

"I'll call ya, but I don't t'ink I'll have ta." Seamus sighed and set off towards his own home less than two miles away where Liam had left his own car. "When are ya gonna tell Ma thot McBride is back?"

Liam sighed and stared out of the window with a pained look on his face. "I'll call in ta see her t'night... Ya know she'll want ta go see 'em?"

"I'll take har. Ya jus' make sure she knows not ta be packin' anythin' more than flowers and some chocolates when I pick har up. Am not gonna be buryin' a Yank spy in one o' me fields."

 _()()()()()()()_

Meanwhile in the little farmhouse…

"Jayzuz, Mary 'n Joseph! Them boys sure did a number on yar fella, Fi," Rose Glenanne exclaimed as she peered down at the dark haired man sprawled across her sister in law's couch. "I tol' Sean ta behave himself, but ya know how angry he wa'?"

The babies were back in their crib and, while Fiona had freed her former lover from the handcuffs, Rose had brought over the first aid kit and a bowl filled with warm water.

"I don' think this is all Sean's work, Rosanna." Fiona declared as she cleaned away the dried blood out of Michael's hair and from his face. Gently probing the bruised skin, she winced when she discovered a broken cheekbone under his swollen left eye.

"Aye, well, I don' think it went all one way either." The blond lifted one of their patient's hands to display bruised knuckles. "Sean wa' walkin' wit' a limp when he came home tha other night, an' I heard fram Belle thot Seamus got his nose broke ag'in."

Picking up a sponge, the blond haired woman gently began to wash away the dirt and grime from Michael's swollen hands. There had been a time when she'd had high hopes that this man would be the one for her husband's only sister. She loved Fiona as if she was her own sister and wanted nothing more than to see her settled down with a husband and a brood of children of her own.

Michael McBride had, in her own opinion, been a good match, his quiet demeanour offsetting Fiona's volatile nature and of course it didn't hurt that he was tall, muscular and good looking. He was also the only man she had known who had dated Fiona without trying one way or another to use her family name for their own gain.

Of course, that had all changed when Sean had returned from his mad dash across the Atlantic to warn her about Thomas O'Neill. Her husband had arrived home still recovering from having a bullet removed from his chest to announce that Fiona was living with McBride, only he wasn't McBride, he was really an American spy called Westen. She had been proud of the way Sean had stood up for his little sister in the face of hostility from the rest of the brothers.

But then, barely a month later, Sean's steadfast approval of Fiona and her spy boyfriend's relationship had been broken when Fiona had arrived back in Dublin. Flying in on a secret flight on its way from Miami to Nigeria, obviously pregnant and very much on her own, his little sister's situation had quickly turned her husband's feelings of friendship towards his former comrade in the fight against the RIRA into burning fury.

Just then Michael's eyes fluttered open and he let out a groan, as he weakly batted away the hands poking and prodding at his battered body.

"Okay then, am gonna leave ya ta talk." Rose got to her feet. "I'll be wit' tha babbies if ya need me." She threw the now semi-conscious Michael a hard look before leaving Fiona to explain how he was now the father to two beautiful healthy babies.

"Try ta keep any shouting down an', if ya have ta start throwing stuff around, keep yar hands off tha vases; I gotcha tham flowers."

Alone in the living room with her estranged lover, Fiona sighed and watched as Michael slowly came back to his senses. As he mumbled and groaned, she went over to the fridge and brought him a bottle of Lucozade. Hopefully the sports drink would help to restore some of the fluid he had lost during his stay as a guest of her brothers.

" _I gotta call fram one o' tha custom officers I have on tha payroll up in Derry. McBride got off a Cargo ship this mornin' an' he's hitchin' a ride South. I've already made arrangements. He's being taken tha first time dey stop fer a break," Liam had informed her in a phone call two days ago._

" _Don't hurt him Liam... I mean it."_

" _I don' understand why ya dont wan' ham thrown back inta tha sea. I can make sure he disappears fer good... I have tha perfect place -"_

" _Because he is tha father of me children, Liam, and I won' have thar Uncle murder thar Da. Am not livin' some fecking Greek tragedy."_

Leaning over him, she stroked the back of her hand across his stubble covered, undamaged right cheek. "Wha' ar' ya doing here, Michael?" she murmured softly.

 _It had only been when she had fully regained her senses after being kidnapped by Thomas O'Neill that she had learnt the whole story of what Michael had done for her. Shooting Tom Strickler and then planting the replica of one of O'Neill's own bombs on the Irish sociopath's boat. The news that he had blown up O'Neill and his whole crew had brought a warm glow to her heart when she heard they were all dead. She had thought that he had finally come to his senses when he told her he was done trying to get back into the CIA. But then Mason Gilroy, another blasted murdering bastard, had arrived in Miami and ruined it all._

" _He murdered my CIA contact and that's on me...Diego would have still been alive if I hadn't killed Strickler."_

" _Gilroy is a freelance assassin. Somebody is paying him a lot of money and I'm the only one who can stop him."_

 _The excuses had continued until she had come to the conclusion that, regardless of what he said about his former bosses, Michael Westen would always find a conspiracy to chase and, if she hung around, all she would ever be was second best._

With a shallow cough, Michael opened his eyes as best he could and squinted up at her.

"Fi?" he questioned, his eyes flickering around the room and then back to study her appearance. The harsh Irish winter had caused her tan to disappear, leaving her pale, and her thin drawn features looked all wrong with her fuller figure.

Struggling, he sat up and rubbed at his wrists. She could see him trying to work things out and then, as if on cue, the demanding wail of a hungry baby filled the cottage, causing his body to jerk in surprise as his eyes widened in what she could only describe as fear.

"Sorry, Michael," she muttered distractedly, her hand going to her chest as the baby's cry caused an ache in her breasts. "I have to - if I don't - it'll wake the other one up... If you want to talk, you'll have to come wit' me."

 _Things were getting better. But once one of them woke up, if he or she wasn't quietened down quickly, the other would wake and demand equal attention. Three weeks of having her life ruled over by two tiny little tyrants was wearing her down and always at the back of her mind was how much better the other women in the family were at dealing with her children. Both Rose and Isabella seemed to know in an instant what each cry or gurgle meant while she was left to struggle along by process of elimination._

She went into the bedroom to find Rose was already changing the nappy on the baby boy. "I wa' gonna bring ham out to ya," Rose spoke over her shoulder. "You get settled an' I'll bring ham o'er ta ya."

By the time the blond had finished changing the diaper, Fiona was propped up on the bed with the pillows arranged about her. For next few minutes, both women ignored the man standing in the doorway who was watching what was happening with a mixture of awe and horror.

"Okay then, I see yar help has managed ta drag himself off tha couch an' I dare say yer have nae finished yar discussion yet. So I'm gonna go an' stretch me legs fer a bit." The willowy blond walked past Michael as he stood with his mouth hanging open. "I'd shut thot if I wa' ya." She poked him under the chin. "Or yar face may set like thot." She laughed softly and gave him a light push into the room. "Don't be an idjit, man; go say hello ta yar babbies."

Fiona cradled her boy in her arms as he greedily suckled his lunch. She could see Michael in her peripheral vision, watching them with his eyes wide and his mouth still open. Eventually, she could take no more.

"Come in, Michael, and shut the door."

The other twin was stirring now and Fiona blinked rapidly several times. After three weeks with two infants, she was worn out both physically and emotionally. She couldn't remember what it was like to have a full night sleep or to have a moment to herself. During her time in Miami, she had forgotten what it was like to be constantly surrounded by family. So getting caught between demanding babies and well-meaning relatives with all their frequently contradictory advice, she was ready to fall apart.

Pushing back the tears, she nodded towards the crib, trying to control the wave of panic which was about to overwhelm her senses. This was the first time she hadn't had either Rose or her other sister in law, Isabelle, nearby during feeding times.

"Ya need ta pick har up Michael." She told the mute statue, whose fingers were turning white as they gripped the door frame. "Michael, fer christ's sake, move yar self!"

"Fi, I -" He was backing up now, stepping into the hallway, his eyes still firmly fixed on the wooden cot at the end of the bed as if the contents inside might explode at any second.

"Michael, she's _your_ daughter. She won't bite you. Pick her up and hold her!" Fiona tried using her American accent to catch his attention. She was doing her best to stay calm, when all she really wanted to do was screech at him for being such an ass.

"But -Fi, what is -?" He mumbled as he hesitantly edged his way into the room to stare down at the tiny baby girl, who stared back at him with a screwed up face and tear filled blue eyes.

"I swear, if you can't even pick up..." Fiona stopped her tirade as he gingerly lifted the baby girl up and held her close to his chest. She watched as his expression changed from mortified to being filled to something akin to adoration as he regarded the precious bundle.

"How – how old are they? What are their names?" He had a hundred questions and his eyes kept going from glancing across to her and then back to the baby girl who was mouthing at his woolen jumper in her search for a meal.

"Three weeks and their names are Sean Michael and Claire Michelle"

"How did? – How are?" He couldn't get the words out as his mind reeled at the weight of responsibility which had suddenly been dropped quite literally into his hands.

"I'm fine, Michael. They're fine. There were no problems."

 _She remembered how three weeks earlier she had been laying in her bed, writhing in pain and screaming bloody murder, demanding to know how either of the two women with her could have put themselves through this more than once. In the end, after ten hours of labor, she had delivered the babies naturally with only the use of gas and air, which Liam had paid to be stolen from the nearest hospital. And then, while her mother and sister in law Isabelle had been at her side, Liam and Sean had been nervously sitting outside said hospital with their phones in their hands, waiting for a call in case they needed to bring a doctor back to their sister._

"They were born here at thirty nine weeks. Sean-boy was five pound six, an' Claire was five pounds. He was born first and she came a half hour later."

He nodded, though she wasn't sure how much he was listening to her as he studied the child in his arms. Then, the soft grizzling noise suddenly turned into a cacophony of anguished cries. The look of mild amazement he had been wearing was gone in an instant as he rushed to the bedside, thrusting the baby at her.

"Fi, I - I didn't – ."

She sighed. "Ya can't throw her at me like thot. Ya have ta help. I'm still getting tha hang o' this meself. Give har here, Michael, and sit down. Every time I look at ya, I keep thinking yar about to bolt out o' tha bloody door."

As Fiona got as comfortable as she could, Michael pulled a chair over beside the bed and sat down.

"You don't have to worry about me running. I'm pretty sure if I try to step outta that door, I'll get shot down by one of your brothers," he snipped back without thinking and instantly regretted it.

"Sorry, sorry I didn't -" He leaned over and cupped her cheek. "I came here to say I'm sorry and to tell you that you were right." He flopped back in the chair, his eyes going back to his children.

"I never…" His brow creased as if he was trying to work something out. "Why didn't you tell me? If you'd told me..."

"I did try. I tried several times, Michael. But -" She shrugged her shoulders and let her gaze drop to study the matching heads of her babies, one suckling at each of her breasts, a balancing act she was only just now learning to manage.

By her own count she had tried to tell him seven times, each occasion ruined either by her own nerves, his selfishness or by the arrival of some needy soul in dire trouble.

 _She had been so grateful when the job of bringing Rick Matheson to justice was finally over and the fledging crime boss was locked away in a prison cell, believing he had been set up by the drug dealers he had been stealing from._

 _All through the previous week, she had been feeling what could only be described as out of sorts. She had hidden it well, but while Michael went off to make sure Tommy D'Antonio was doing as he had promised and was on his way out of Miami, she paid a visit to a small neighborhood clinic to get a prescription for some vitamins and a course of antibiotics._

 _And that was when she had got the shock of her life._

" _Congratulations Ms. Lynch, you are eight weeks pregnant."_

 _That had not been the news she had expected or wanted to hear. Nevertheless, it was what it was and, after taking a side trip to the nearest shooting range for a therapeutic couple of hours of blasting holes in pieces of paper, she had called Michael. Much to her relief, before she could make the suggestion, he had invited her out on a celebratory date. Finally ridding himself of a nosey detective had definitely cheered him up._

 _She had decided she would ease into the news, suggest a few easy bounty hunting jobs and then casually let slip that the extra money would come in handy as they were going to have an extra mouth to feed in approximately seven months time._

" _Now we're in the clear, there are a few gigs I've lined up for us."_

 _And he instantly cut her down, giving her all the reasons why it was so damn important that he started to work on getting back into the CIAs good graces._

" _Michael, priorities change. People change. Tommy always thought he'd be a criminal. Maybe you'll find -" He'd watched her through hooded eyes, shaking his head in denial as if nothing was more important than his plans._

 _She had still been trying to come to terms with the idea of a child herself without having the worry of telling him and then having to deal with his rejection. "You're sure?" She had been barely able speak, her resolve dissolving into the ether._

" _I'm sure. I'm free of the people who burned me. I'm clear of the cops. This is the moment I've been waiting for."_

" _This is the moment I've been waiting for – too."_

 _She had tried to hide how broken hearted she was, but promised herself she would tell him at the next opportunity._

"I -" Michael was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, the whole time his eyes never straying from the vision on the bed. Part of him, the cold tactical side of his brain screamed out: _Two babies! What the hell are you going to do now?_ But another part, which until that moment he hadn't known existed, was urging him to climb on to that bed and wrap his family in his arms. _You're not your old man, you can do this. You owe her this..._

Sensing his unease, Fiona changed the subject to something she was sure he would want to talk about. "So, what happened to Gilroy?"

"He's dead... He got what he deserved in the -" The words dried up as he caught sight of her expression. Shaking his head, he began again. "It doesn't matter, he's gone. You were right. I should have left it all to the FBI... Fi, I didn't know, I'm sorry. But… _twins_?"

"Yes, Michael, twins." She sighed wearily. "Here, he's had his fill." She carefully held out their son. "Put him against yar chest and rub his back."

Following Fiona's directions, Michael began the task of burping his son.

"You named him Sean?" he asked, wondering why he only got second billing.

"Sean has had to put up with a lot because of us. He was the only one on my side right from the beginning. He was the only one that _ever_ defended _you_. I thought it was fitting." Now it was her turn to pause and purse her lips, as she tried to come up with the best way to break the rest of her news. "They're full names are Sean Michael and Claire Michelle _O'Keefe_."

"O'Keefe? That's your mother's maiden name, isn't it?"

She nodded and then, as Claire decided she too had fed enough, paused to rearrange her top. "Liam has set up false identities for us all. O'Neill may be dead and gone, but there's still all the people who were willing to pay the bastard for putting me up on the auction block. Until they've been dealt with, it's not safe for them to be Glenannes - or McBrides."

"And there'll never be a safe time for them to be Westens?" The bitterness in his words wasn't lost on her.

"No, not here... Maybe not anywhere…. You've always made a point of telling me how many people are after your blood. We're safe here. Seamus lives close by and all the other houses nearby are owned by other members of the family." She watched as he took a long gulp from the bottle of fizzy orange energy drink. Even with his head tilted back, she could see the hurt in his eyes.

"Why did you come looking for me, Michael?"

With the drink finished, he placed the empty bottle on the bedside table and leaned back in the chair so he could take his first proper look at his son. "I came to ask you to come back to Miami with me," he answered her truthfully, but his eyes were fixed on the baby boy with a head of light colored fuzz and large blue eyes who stared back at him.

"Mi -"

He looked up and smiled wistfully. "But that's impossible, right? At least for now," he finished her sentence for her.

She felt her heart soften towards him…the expression on his face and the look in his eye as he turned his attention back to the infant in his arms… She had never thought the day would come when she would see that look on the face of Michael Westen. She patted the space next to her on the bed, "Come sit beside me, Michael. Get to meet your children properly, they'll be awake for awhile."

For an hour, they sat on the bed, side by side, letting the twins kick their legs and reach out with their tiny hands. For the first time since their birth, Fiona felt truly relaxed as she let her head drop onto Michael's shoulder. _This was how it was supposed to have been..._

"Hey," he spoke softly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "They're asleep and you were, too."

"Sorry… you have no idea how exhausting it's been." She swung her legs off the bed and got to her feet. "Let's put them back into the cot an' then I'll get you something to eat."

He heard the dullness in her voice and, at that moment, he began to get an idea of the stress she had been living under. He still couldn't believe she had hidden the pregnancy from him, or the fact he had failed to notice the changes which must have been happening to her body. He felt a sudden shiver work its way down his spine when it suddenly hit him she must have been pregnant when she had been kidnapped, manhandled and God knows what else by O'Neill, when she had been shot and he had detonated a bomb while she had still been in the water. _Jesus, she had been pregnant when he had hit her…When Gabriel had had a gun to her head…_ All of a sudden, he felt sick with guilt.

Then that cold logical voice began to sound inside his head. _You'll never be able to keep them all safe. This is a tactical nightmare... You don't even know what your status is back home._ Swallowing, he forced his doubts to the back of his mind and instead concentrated on the woman before him.

"No, you're gonna lie down and get some rest and, while you do that, I'm gonna have a bath or a shower and then I'll _make myself_ a sandwich or something." With the twins safely in their cot, he directed Fiona back to the bed.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He smiled at her. "Just point me in the direction of the bathroom."

"Two doors down on the left," she yawned. "You'll find towels in the airing cupboard."

"Okay then, you rest 'til they wake up." He saw the flash of doubt in her eyes. "I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

Once he left the room, Fiona lay back and stared up at the light above the bed. Once she heard the water gushing out of the taps and into the old bathtub, she let weariness overtake her and fell asleep.

 _After the first disastrous attempt to break the happy news, she had spent a lot of time thinking about what she was going to say and how she was going to say it. She had spent a whole week avoiding Michael as much as she could, which in truth hadn't been hard as he was spending virtually every waking minute stuck in a car with Sam Axe checking out aircraft tail numbers._

 _Her plan had been to go out to lunch and then back to her place. But before she could say more than five words to him, he had announced he was off to the airport in search of some vital piece of information._

 _The third time, she had been sure she knew what she had been doing wrong. She needed to get his attention, get him to focus on her instead of some CIA agent hiding out at Opa Locka. So she'd arrived at the loft early, planning on doing a little bit of flirting followed by some reconnecting before going out to eat._

" _Not quite as much fun as kicking a door down." She'd glided across from the door to the work bench, letting him get a good look at her outfit and the body underneath. Reaching out, she had trailed her fingers over his collection of blank keys._

" _Ready to go?" He had seemed pleased to see her stopping what he was doing and turning his whole attention in her direction._

" _To dinner? It's four thirty. I told you no more early bird specials," she'd pouted._

 _He had instantly gone on the defensive and, less than five minutes later, he was heading out of the door and she still hadn't told him what had her so wound up and so dead set against chasing after the CIA._

" _We're going to have to do this eventually," she'd called out to him as he opened the door._

" _Yeah, just not right now," he had flung back at her before rushing down the steps._

 _The fourth time was after Spencer Wawkowsi was safe and the big bad woman, or alien depending on who you asked, was in custody. She'd waited for him in the loft, made him one of his favorite meals and, once he was there and sitting comfortably, she had taken her courage in both hands and took her fourth run at informing he was going to be a daddy._

 _She had started by asking how his day had gone, thinking that she would get the discussion about Diego Garza out of the way first and then move onto what she wanted to say. But instead she had let her mouth run away and ruined it all._

" _Talking to you is like talking to Spencer. You are both focused on one thing; it clouds everything else. It's a crazy way to live, Michael."_

 _She had thought she had chosen the perfect moment, but when he began to speak she knew she had got it wrong… again._

" _You know, I am like Spencer. We both see the world a certain way and we both have skills to make it a better place. That's not a bad thing. I don't want to keep ducking this, so let me be straight with you. This job what we just did, saving American lives, this was the type of work I was made for, Fi. It's what my old job gave me a chance to do every single day, so no getting back in isn't just a way to survive, to protect the people I love, it's what I want... And if you truly care about me, you should damn well want for me what I want for myself."_

 _By the fifth time, she had been close to giving up hope. She'd already started talking to her mother about coming home and had quietly begun to sell her stockpile of C4._

 _And then Tom fucking Strickler had come along, a self-styled agent to the spies, a go between for spies when things went wrong or for when a government didn't want to deal directly with an asset._

 _She had planned one more try, a visit to a nearby farmers market, and then back to her condo for lunch._

" _We're eating at my place, so I get to choose the topic of conversation," she had told him forcefully. But that was before they discovered a thirteen year old boy attempting to steal a gun from her bedroom cabinet._

 _If she had a thing about lost little sisters, Michael most definitely had a thing about abusive fathers beating on their wife and kids. The whole time they were helping that family, there just hadn't been any time to break the news; however, watching how patient he could be with the teenager, Joey, gave her hope that things would work out in the end between them._

 _It was sometime after April Luna left with her boys that she somehow lost him to Strickler. The spy-broker had managed to entice him into doing some pretty dubious things as payment for help getting back into the CIAs good graces. She became positive that if she told him while they were barely on speaking terms, he would accuse her of attempting to trap him and, in her present state, she just couldn't cope with arguing with him anymore._

 _And then he had struck her, struck her hard enough to nearly take her off her feet. She'd understood it was all for their cover, to help Barry get his ledger back. But regardless of how unfair it was, all she could think of was that he had hit her and their baby. And that was when she gave up. She called home and told her mammy to expect her there in the next week._

 _She had tried to talk to him one last time while she'd gone in search of her favorite weapon, her H &K with the silver slide, but it had been useless. His selfishness had set her temper alight again._

 _That was until just as she was within days of running away, when Sean had turned up unexpectedly on her doorstep and what followed had given her the strength to try to make things work between them one final time…_

The bedroom was suddenly thrown back, banging against the wall, and the voices of two pre-teen girls filled the room for all of a second before being joined by the startled cries of two infants awoken from their dreams.

"Aunty Fi! Aunty, it's jus' us. We jus wanta see tha babbies."

"Whar are they? Oh, don' mind us, can we hold 'em? Pleeaasseee, Aunty Fi?"

Jerked awake, Fiona's head spun as she tried to reach the cot before the two girls dressed in jeans, boots and anoraks. The taller, skinny blonde with her waist length hair in two long plaits was twelve year old Sian, Sean and Rose's eldest, and with her was her ten year old cousin Molly, Seamus and Isabelle's sixth born child.

"Wa' ya asleep, Aunty? D'ya wan' us ta take tham fer ya? We can watch 'em." Molly announced over the loud cries of Sean and Claire.

"No, no, girls, please... Please just -"

"We can help, let us help... I help mammy all tha time," Sian shouted back, reaching into the cot to pick up Sean as Fiona attempted to soothe Claire.

"No, how did you -"

Neither girl was listening to their Aunt. Sian, ignoring Fiona completely, lifted Sean with an expertise that belied her age as Molly tried to aid the adult with Claire.

"Yer doin' it wrong, Aunty," Molly admonished. "Mammy always says ya do it like -"

"What the hell is -?!" Michael appeared at the door, dripping wet, but thankfully wearing a towel around his waist. He spotted the two girls and visibly paled. "Oh, crap!"

He retreated to the sound of girlish giggling.

"Thot wa' Uncle McBride." Sian was still grinning as she rocked the now silent little boy.

"Thot's not whot my daddy calls ham," Molly smirked. "I heard daddy say he wa' a -"

"Whot tha hell ar' ya two girls doin' in har?!" Patrick Glenanne came storming through the front door, his rifle still in one hand, his mud covered boots trailing farmyard muck over the tiled floor.

The youth appeared at the bedroom door. "Sorry, Aunty Fi, I shouted ta 'em, but they jus' ignored me. You two need ta get back ta tha house nar... Does Da know ya took tha bike out? Ya war tol ya could only ride it if one o' us were wit' ya."

"Who the hell are you?" Michael was back, now respectably covered in jeans and his undershirt.

"Patrick." The youth swung towards the older man, "Patrick Glenanne, sir, Seamus's son. Am on look out. Am sorry, I shoulda stopped tha wee ones bustin' in thot way."

"You're on lookout?" _The brothers were using their children to spy on him?_ Michael reeled in his temper. He had totally forgotten about the chaos which frequently followed the members of the Glenanne family around wherever they went. "Well, do your job and take -"

"Sian and Molly," Patrick smirked as he filled in the gaps in Michael's knowledge. "Tha girls warn't har ta cause ya any trouble... Dey wa'..."

"They woke up Fiona and -"

"Claire an' Sean-boy," Patrick helpfully reminded the older man of his children's names.

Fiona took Sean from his cousin's arms and then nudged the older girl towards the door. "Thank ya, girls, but me and McBride have a lot o' things ta talk about yet. So, why don' ya both go grab a piece o' cake fram tha cupboard and we'll see ya tomorrow."

As the girls pushed past Michael, talking to themselves and giggling, Fiona followed them, handing Michael his son in the hopes of defusing any further conversation. "Pat, why don' ya take tha girls home? We don' need anybody ta watch out fer us."

"Me Da said am ta stay, it's no trouble."

"You can tell your Da -"

"Michael, it's fine," Fiona cut him off. " Leave it. Pat, go back ta yar job. Girls, ya' go straight home, ya shouldn't be out on thot motorbike without helmets on and Sian, does yar mammy know yar ridin' round tha fields in yar school shoes?"

Moments later, after the front door slammed shut and the rattling buzz of a small two stroke motorcycle engine started up and then faded away as the girls rode off across the fields. Silence once more settled over the cottage.

"It's that what it's always like?" he asked, staring at the muddy boot prints over the floor and the open cabinet doors in the kitchen.

"They mean well, Michael." She sighed wearily. "And most days either Rose or Isabelle would have been here with me."

"Okay, I get it," Michael muttered. "Look, go back to bed, I'll take, er -" he paused, staring down at the sleeping child in his arms, his mind totally blank.

"Sean..." Fiona spoke in a dangerously low tone. "Their names are Sean and Claire."

Yeah, er… Sean and Claire are already asleep. You go back to bed. I'll clean up this mess and -" He looked around wildly. "And I'll get us something to eat. How about that? Does that sound good?" Finally, he made eye contact with her, his lips parting in a toothy smile.

 _He had forgotten his own children's names... But, at least he was trying to make things right. She didn't trust him not to leave, but..._ She looked across to Sean cradled against his daddy's chest.

 _But she had to give him a chance to make things right_.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _This is the third part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 12 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

 _On a side note, the names of the twins in this story were chosen because we wanted the twins older counterparts in_ ** _Jedi Skysinger's_** What We Leave Behind _(which hopefully gets updated before the end of this year)_ _to grow up with two loving parents in at least one story._

 _()()()()()()_

 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 3**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Unknown Location, Republic of Ireland, 2010_

After seven full days trapped on a remote farm surrounded by over half of the Glenanne clan, most of whom he concluded had no idea of the meaning of personal space, Michael Westen was ready to commit a murder.

When he had made the decision to leave Miami and to risk not only the dangers of a winter crossing of the Atlantic, but the wrath of both the CIA, who were possibly looking upon him fleeing the country as a sign of his guilt, and the Glenannes, who thanks to Sean's sense of honor now all knew he was an American spy called Westen, he had known it wasn't going be easy and he had prepared himself for rejection or even outright violence from the woman he had decided he couldn't live without.

He had even put a couple of contingency plans in place, just in case while he was trying to win her back he was unlucky enough to be picked up by MI-6 or if the CIA decided to send a tactical team to forcibly repatriate him back to the US. But nothing in his life had prepared him for the reality of his present situation, as he found himself slowly being assimilated into Fiona's family. Resistance, he was discovering, was indeed futile when it came to having to get along with the Glenanne clan.

"Daddy! Da! Will ya tell Sian ta get outta tha bathroom? I need ta go!"

Michael closed his eyes as ten year old Peter yelled at the top of his voice for his father to evict his sister from the one and only bathroom in the overcrowded farmhouse, which was presently home to a minimum of four adults and two children. The youth's voice carried easily on the frosty morning air, from the inside the house out to where Michael stood leaning against a partially collapsed stone wall that in the past had been one side of a pigsty but was now nothing more than a weed filled enclosure.

"Sian!" Sean bellowed from the kitchen where he was sitting down to a breakfast being served by his wife Rose. "Get outta thar _now_!"

The crash of doors being banged open and then slammed shut announced that Sian had surrendered the bathroom to her brother, followed by what the spy had soon gathered was one of the twelve year old's favorite phrases.

"Aunty Fi, Sean-boy is awake. Can I play wit' ham? Can I take ham out ta see tha kittens? He loves tha baby kittens."

 _Why on earth would a month old baby want to see a bunch of scraggy feral kittens?_

Letting out a long drawn out sigh, he suddenly understood the appeal smoking held for Seamus... and his own parents. As the noise from the house continued in the background, he could have cheerfully lit up a smoke and let the nicotine soothe his overstretched nerves. Just the thought of that action brought back a whole raft of memories, mostly those of his parents fighting and stench of stale cigarettes which filled the family home and permeated all their clothes. But the memory which stood out most clearly was from three days ago while he had been leaning against the gate on the other side of the house from where he stood now.

" _Ya should learn ta relax, Mikey," Seamus had advised him while on one of his occasional visits to check on his older offspring who were taking turns on guard duty. "It does ya no good ta get wound up 'bout t'ings ya cannae change."_

 _They had been standing watching two of Seamus's youngest, fourteen year old Milo and the young girl Molly, tearing around the field on motocross motorbikes, sending up lumps of dirt and grass from under the wheels._

" _How do you it, Shay?" he had asked. "How does it not drive you crazy? I mean - with what you do, what your family is involved in. Doesn't it scare you that somebody could -"_

 _The older man had coughed and then laughed at him. "Jayzuz, yer thick, McBride."_

 _He calmed down, lit up another cigarette and pointed to where his children continued to ride up and down the field. "D'ya t'ink if anybody tried ta harm a hair on one o' tham kiddies' heads, it would only be me they'd be dealin' wit'? War an army, lad. Ya cut one o' us an' we all bleed."_

 _He paused for a moment, drawing in a deep lungful of nicotine before slowly letting out a cloud of smoke. "Thot includes ya. Ya know thot, dontcha? Oh, I know ya haven't been given tha seal o' approval fram tha old girls or Liam yet. But it's comin', mark me words. We've all seen ya wit' Fiona. It's obvious yer not goin' any whar an' ya came fer har an' fram whot I hear tell, ya gave up a lot ta be wit' har."_

 _They had remained standing, quietly watching the siblings race and pull tricks on the motorbikes, until Seamus finished his cigarette and then the older man had slapped him on the back and stood up straight._

" _Take me advice, Mikey, an' drop tha feckin' attitude. Ya protected har. If Liam wa' gonna kill ya, he woulda done it already. So, stop yar frettin' an' jus' accept tha fact thot yer one o' us nar." With a final chuckle, he had gone through the gate and had started to shout for Milo and Molly to get back home for tea._

The sound of the kitchen door opening drew Michael out from his reverie and he turned his head just in time to catch sight of Fiona as she stepped out of the house holding their daughter, while Sian followed close behind holding Sean in her arms. He continued to watch as they walked across the yard to what had some point been a stable block and was now just a ramshackle line of decrepit buildings.

She looked worn out, the constant noise and the demands of the babies seemed to have sucked the life out of the woman he cared so much about. She needed to be back in the sun and far away from the chaotic comings and goings of her large extended family.

He desperately wanted to take her and the twins away somewhere quiet. Somewhere…where they could be alone, so they could have a chance to repair their relationship and get used to being parents. But he had serious doubts about being allowed to go anywhere without a full surveillance team and Fiona's self-appointed bodyguards in tow. He let out a long sigh as he thought again about Seamus' words and bit down on his lower lip. _Resistance was indeed futile._

Only the day before he had been sitting in the living room, scrunched up on the two-seater couch with Seamus sitting on one side and Sean on the other, silently willing Fiona to raise her voice and tell the whole blasted lot of them to get out. That particular afternoon would always hold a special place in his mind.

Packed into the tiny living space, with the wood fire blazing and filling the room with more heat than he imagined he would find in the fiery pits of hell, he found himself facing two of the elder stateswomen of the Glenanne family, who had decided to honor them with a visit and, from what soon became very clear, to pass judgement on his previous crimes.

 _They had arrived in the back of Seamus' large 7-seater SUV and had been greeted as if they were visiting royalty. Maeve Glenanne, Fiona's mother, was barely an inch over five feet tall and weighed not much more than a feather and yet had been considered by MI-5 and 6 during the 1960s and '70s to be one of the most dangerous women in the IRA. Her fierce hatred of the British government and the loyalist paramilitary groups was only matched by her overwhelming love for her children and for the memory of her deceased husband._

 _And accompanying the Queen of the clan had been her sister in law, the many times widowed_ _Claire Glenanne, the siblings dearly departed little sister's namesake and their Da's only sister in a cadre of brothers, who having lost all her husbands to the cause and having no children of her own left alive, had treated them all as her surrogate family. Her_ _reputation for being as hard as nails and sharper than cut glass was richly deserved and could be confirmed by the few lucky souls who had ever been foolhardy enough to try to hurt her or one of her own and survive._

 _The two women had dominated the tiny space by their mere presence. He had seen African warlords with less force of personality than these two. Yet according to Fiona, her mother and aunt were nothing compared to the formidable Fionulla Glenanne, her paternal grandmother._ _Thinking back on it now and remembering how the visitation had gone, Michael decided as he stood outside in the early morning mist that eating a bullet might be preferable if the Dowager Queen Bee of the Glenanne clan ever decided to pay her respects to the new mother._

 _They had begun by making small talk with a skill that put the CIA's best interrogators to shame. Gentle inquiries about how the young family was coping with such darling little babies were made over cups of tea served in what he now knew to have been Isabelle's best bone china. This was interspersed with mild curiosity as to what they intended to do in the future. For the most part during these discussions, he quickly realized he was expected to sit quietly unless asked a direct question._ _But eventually the two ladies seemed to reach a decision._

 _Somehow silently communicating with each other, they had turned the conversation to what had obviously been the real reason for their visit and their sharp beady eyes had focused on him._ " _Michael…" Maeve had regarded her daughter's beau with cool disdain. "Am glad ta hear yer planning on stayin' around dis time. So I take it ya have chosen a date?"_

" _A date?" he answered flatly, feigning ignorance. The talk of marriage had been high on the subject list of all the Glenannes, O'Keefes, and various other satellite family members connected to the Glenanne clan who had called around over the last week._

" _Mammy, we -" Fiona had interrupted, but had stopped instantly when Maeve had raised a hand in a sharp gesture to cease._

" _It's a straight forward question, Michael... I've already taken tha liberty an' hadda word wit' Fadder Conlon on yar behalf an' he's agreeable ta ya havin' tha weddin' at his church. O' course, ya both must attend mass fer at least a month befer tha great day, an' Michael, Fadder Conlon will be needin' ta see tha record o' yar baptism. I take it thot won't be a problem?" Her eyes had narrowed and he had detected a very slight tightening of her lips._

 _He had sighed and opened his mouth to put a stop to being steam rolled into matrimony, but Fiona had stepped in to save him… or so he'd thought._

" _Mammy, it's not as easy as thot. Michael is har illegally and he's had trouble at home in America..." But under the cold unwavering gaze of her mother and aunt, she had backed down. "But Liam says he's workin' on some papers -" her voice fading away as she suddenly found something very interesting on her lap._

" _Ma, Fi and Michael have ta keep a low profile. I don' t'ink a big weddin' would be a good idea," Seamus spoke up in an effort to keep the peace. "An' ya would nae want tham ta lie ta tha priest, would ya?"_

" _Dey cannae be livin' in sin wit' two babbies," Claire stated firmly. "Thar will be a marriage, Fiona Cairan Glenanne... An befer tha wee ones have ta be registered." She'd then turned her pale blue eyes on him and he'd seen the promise of a slow bloody death in his near future. "Tha pair o' ya have this week ta t'ink it o'er and decide how ya want ta arrange t'ings."_

 _Michael had been fairly certain his input into the impending nuptials would be limited to the words 'I do.' But before he could voice any sort of opinion on the matter, that was the end of the discussion and he found himself, along with the other men present, effectively dismissed as the ladies turned their attention onto the twins sleeping habits, how much the precious little darlings had grown and how Fiona's breast feeding efforts were going._

"McBride!" Sean's voice broke through Michael's reminiscing and grated on his nerves. "I need a word wit' ya. Liam jus' called and he wants ta speak wit' ya... _now_." Sean was standing directly behind him, jangling a set of car keys and obviously expecting him to be ready to leave immediately.

Michael threw his head back and looked up at the grey cloud filled sky, searching for the strength to remain calm. He was, as saying goes, sorely put out with his one-time friend. He'd hoped that Sean would have been more supportive of him. But in fact Fiona's closest sibling had taken the news of Michael's apparent abandonment of his little sister the worst of all the clan, with the possible exception of the head of the family.

 _Great…_ Michael sighed internally and slowly turned to face his former unwitting comrade during his previous visit to Ireland. _The old ladies yesterday had been bad enough, but now he was expected to face Liam Glenanne?_

" _Am tryin' ta get it in ta thot thick Ruskie skull o' yars thot Liam Glenanne is yar worst nightmare. He's tha most feared interrogator in tha PIRA. He gets answers an' he gets 'em quick. D'ya wan' ta know how many men have committed suicide jus' cuz they t'ought Liam wa' comin' for 'em?" The words of warning had come from his first MI-6 handler, when he had informed the man that he had been invited into the home of Maeve Glenanne to have Sunday dinner with the whole family._

"What does he want?"

"How tha hell d' I know?" Sean replied shortly. "Maybe he wants ta know if ya an' Fi have picked a date yet."

"I thought that was something you lot had already picked out for us. I mean, you're running-" Michael began hotly, only to have his words cut short by a flat hand against his shoulder, shoving him backwards.

"We're watchin' out fer our little sister," Sean growled back, bristling in anger. "Makin' sure she an' tham babbies don't get hurt -"

Michael felt his own temper rise and then the injustice of it all came crashing about him. He threw a punch which connected solidly with Sean's jaw, literally making the Irishman eat his words.

And in that instant, the fight which had been brewing for the last seven days began, as each man rained blow after blow onto his opponent. Sean's skills were honed by years of street fighting and sparring sessions with his siblings. Whereas Michael, who was still suffering some of the effects of his previous beatings, had the advantage of years of unarmed combat training, augmented by what he had picked up during his various missions around the world. Pretty soon, Michael's greater skill was winning out, as he used his feet encased in heavy boots to devastating effect. It was only when a bucket of freezing cold water hit the two men that the fight came to an end. Both men stood breathing heavily with matching bloodied noses and split lips.

"Tha pair o' ya pack it in an' get cleaned up nar!" Rose Glenanne threw the now empty bucket between them and stood with her hands on her hips. "I don' know whotcha fightin' o'er but am not havin' ya act like a pair o' wild men wit' that babbies jus' across tha way."

"Rosie, don' ya go throwin' -" His tirade came to a stop as a scrubbing brush came at his head, causing him to duck.

"Inside nar! Get cleaned up an' not another word, d'ya hear me?" She stood with the hands on her hips turning into fists and glaring at one and then the other.

As Sean trudged by him on his way into the farmhouse to get clean dry clothing, Michael caught Fiona's incredulous eyes as she stood beside Sian. If he was expecting her to be concerned for his condition, he couldn't have been more wrong. The tiny exhausted woman stared at his soaked figure and then broke into the first honest belly laugh he'd heard out of her in what seemed like ages.

Michael's ire flashed hot for just moment before he forcibly reminded himself that it was his own selfishness which had caused her to flee to her family for support and had put him in the situation he now found himself in the first place. Besides, he could hardly be mad at the first thing that had made her merry in forever, however much it had hurt him, or more accurately his pride, in the process.

Michael threw her a smile that was marred by the blood on his mouth and gestured with a nod of his head towards the kitchen door. "I don' suppose ya fancy helpin' me get changed?"

He watched as her cheeks took on a tinge of pink and she shook her head slowly. "Sian hasn't finished showin' Sean an' Claire tha kitties," she answered with a grin.

"McBride!" Rosanna interrupted their moment. "Ya have a meetin' ta get ta! Get inside nar befer ya catch yar death o' cold an' get changed."

()()()()

A half hour later, Michael and Sean were speeding along the narrow country lanes and then out on to wider roads with more traffic. As he looked out at the passing countryside and the village names which flashed by, Michael was surprised to discover what he had thought was a remote farmhouse was actually nestled in the foothills of the Wicklow Mountains, only twenty or so miles south of Dublin.

They drove into the city and parked in a small cobblestoned car park belonging to a scruffy looking dive bar on a back street close to the city center. Instead of going into the main part of the bar, Sean led the way up to the second floor using a rickety old exterior metal staircase that reminded Michael of his own home in Miami. Knocking on the fire door at the top of the stairs, they were let into the building by the remaining Glenanne sibling. It was the first time Michael had seen Colin without the Irishman having his face covered by a balaclava since the last time he had been in Ireland. The family's computer expert and technical whiz kid's bright red hair was a little thinner now and sprinkled with grey, but Michael would have known him anywhere.

"McBride." Colin greeted him coolly and then, in a far more friendly tone, turned to Sean. "Brudder, Liam wants ta see thot one on his own." He pointed along the dimly lit hallway. "Ya'll find him waiting fer ya in tha office, jus' along tha way."

Without speaking, Michael walked to the door and raised his hand to knock, before changing his mind and walking in without waiting to be asked. The head of the family was sitting at an ancient looking wooden desk resting in a high backed leather office chair.

"Michael _Westen,_ " Liam growled out, kicking out the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "So ya decided ta stick around dis time. I hope yer not waiting fer me ta say welcome ta tha family."

Michael swallowed and, at least with an outward display of calm, took the offered chair. Taking his time, he got comfortable before looking into the other's icy cold, pale-colored eyes. Running his tongue over dry lips, he tried to think of what he could say to this man which would make things right between them.

"Cat got yar tongue, Westen? Ya used ta have an answer fer everyt'ing."

"Finding out you're a father changes things, Liam," Michael finally spoke.

"Aye, I guess it would... Did ya know she wa' pregnant?"

Michael shook his head. "No, I was distracted... There was a lot going on." He paused and shrugged, knowing he had no defense for not noticing his girlfriend was sixteen weeks pregnant when she left him. "We were fighting and - I don't know. I guess… I guess she got sick of waiting for me to come to my senses."

The Irishman leaned forward. "And whot about nar? D'ya have yar priorities sorted out nar?"

Michael looked directly into the older man's eyes, his expression deadly serious. "I know what I want, if that's what you mean."

"So, yer through wit' tha CIA then, wit' being a spy? Can ya do thot, man? Whot if one o' yar agency friends called ya an' offered ya a job, mebbe a way back in?"

As he listened to Liam's words, the only thing Michael could think of was that he was missing the sight, sound and even the scent of his children. He had just spent the last seven days cocooned in the company of _his_ family, of _his_ woman and _his_ babies. For the first time in his whole life, even amongst all the noise and chaos of Sean and Seamus' families, he had felt safe and needed. And the thought that the man facing him could take it all away from him in an instant scared him far more he cared to admit.

Getting to his feet, Michael slammed his palms down on the desk and leaned forward, his features just as cold and merciless as those of the man facing him. "I have _no_ friends in any of the intelligence agencies an' as fer tha fecking C.I.A, dey have t'rown me out fer tha las' time."

Liam stared back. He was good at reading people. It was a gift that had helped to turn him into one of the most feared men in Ireland. He wanted to believe the American, for his sister's sake, but he hadn't forgotten that Michael Westen was a professional liar. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair and gestured for the younger man to sit back down.

"I have a problem thot I t'ink ya could help me wit'. Well, it's yar problem too, if yer bein' sincere an' not jus' feedin' me tha crap ya think I want ta hear."

Michael nodded and sat back down. "How can I help you, Liam?"

"I've been huntin' down tha men who war lookin' ta take part in O'Neill's auction. O'er tha last coupla months, all tha bastids who wanted ta bid on me sister have been meetin' wit unfortunate accidents. Ya know tha sorta o' t'ing... Gas explosions, a drunken fall off a balcony, takin' a nasty stumble in front o' a truck..." Liam smiled grimly. "Thar's jus a coupla o' them left nar. One's tha brudder o' tha money lauderer she spread over Belfast a few years back an' tha other, tha other name which has come ta me ears… it's a bit touchy fer us, ya see, as he wa' an old family friend. But dis man, he dinnae want har dead, he wanted ta... he wa' gonna... ya get whot I'm saying, McBride?"

Michael understood all too clearly and he felt a burning rage build as his protective instincts went into overdrive. "Who?" he demanded.

"He's a powerful man, wit' his own private army; Armand Andreani tis his name. He's French aristocracy an' he supplies half tha weapons used in North Africa and tha Middle East."

Michael stared at Liam intently. Yes, a man with those sort of assets and connections would be difficult to hit, but not impossible. He had successfully done similar jobs both as a Ranger and as a spy and, if the man had set his sights on Fiona, it was most definitely necessary.

"Why Fiona?" he asked. "What's his motive? It would help to know-" While a part of Michael had loved the intimate time with his new family, there was another part of him that, after a week trapped in a house filled with small children and nothing to do, was anxious for some sort of action.

The older man barked a short laugh. It was a very disturbing sound. "Ar' ya havin' me on, then? He wa' tha man Fiona wa' wit' befer ya came along."

Michael digested this news, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "She dated Armand?"

" _Dated?"_ Liam laughed again. "D'ya not know? D'ya not read all har Interpol files, Westen?" he tsked. "She wa' wit' ham fer four years. She wa' eventually his second, travelling tha world and livin' tha life o' royalty til she got her eyes opened in Bosnia ta whar all tha money was comin' fram."

"What do you need me to do?" _How had he missed that? Then it struck him: for some reason, somebody in MI6 or Interpol must have hidden that piece of information from him._

"Armand is gonna be in County Kildare inna coupla o' days. I know whar he's gonna be stayin' an' I know whar his fancy private jet is gonna be parked up. I'd like ta see thot plane fall inta tha sea as a fiery fireball wit' ham on board. D'ya t'ink ya can help me wit' thot?"

He knew what this was. Family friend or no, Liam Glenanne was perfectly capable of getting a bomb onto Armand's plane if that was all he wanted. The man was a stone cold killer. This was a test; he was being offered a chance to prove himself.

"Liam," Michael breathed deeply, "you should know my own..." He stopped. The CIA wasn't _his_ people any more. Twin babies and a girlfriend who was looking sicker by the day were his only concern now. "I don't know what my status is back home. There could be men on their way over here right now to hunt me down and drag me back."

" _Michael Westen, seriously? Man, oh man, it's not every day I get to interview an urban legend ..."_

 _He had been sitting in a CIA interrogation room, handcuffed to a table for three hours before the tall, shaven headed counter intelligence officer had strode in and taken the seat facing him. Dropping two heavy files down onto the table, the younger man had leaned back in his chair and crossed his long legs at the ankles before folding his arms over his chest._

" _I've just spent an entire day goin' over your file... You know what? Everybody I talked to about you hadda opinion on that burn notice. There is no 'in between' when it comes to you, bro, only two camps. The people that think you were set up and the people that think we should save the taxpayers' money and just bust a cap."_

" _Really? And which camp would you be in, Agent –?"_

 _The lanky CIFA agent had smiled, barring his teeth. It hadn't been a particularly friendly look. "Luckily for you, it's not up to me."_

"I'm sorry, I shoulda tol' ya." For the first time, Liam offered up a genuine smile. "I hadda a conversation wit' this guy in Miami. Fi gave me tha number fer yar friend, Sam Axe... Sean vouched fer ham... He said fer me tell ya he's been speakin' ta some guy in sommit called _seefer_? Yar accounts have all been unfrozen an' yar name is off tha travel watch lists, but yer definitely _out_ an' ya should stay away fram anything involving US interests."

Michael gasped. "You talked to Sam?"

"Aye, seems like a nice enough fella, fer an ex-Seal an' Navy Commander. His record made interesting reading... well, whot Colin could getta hold of on such short notice, anyway. Now, are ya gonna help me solve me arms dealer problem?"

Michael was stunned. He had been effectively cleared by the CIA. But it changed nothing; it just made things easier, as there was only one answer to Liam's question. He nodded affirmatively, determination in his cobalt blue eyes.

"Yes, but after we do this, I want to take Fiona off the farm and get her to somewhere of our own. We'll stay close," he added quickly before Liam could object. "I know none of you trust me to hang around. But we need our own space."

"Ya do yar part an' we'll talk about yar getting' a place nearer tha city..." Then the smile was gone and the pale eyes narrowed, "Af'er tha weddin' o' course."

()()()()

Fiona let out a long sigh and rested her head against the back of the couch. For once, the house was quiet and blessedly empty. With Sean and Michael gone, Sian and Peter in school and Roseanne having taken the twins out in their pram for some fresh air, she felt she could finally relax and take a few minutes to catch her breath.

When the first tear trickled down her cheek, she wiped it away with a hand which for some reason wouldn't stop trembling. Another tear followed the tracks of the first and then, before she could stop it, a third and fourth and then more sprang from her eyes, trailing down her face with growing speed.

Sitting up, she gasped as her heart suddenly seemed to catch and then began to beat faster and faster. Coughing and choking, she tried to stand and then a sob ripped its way out of her throat as her body convulsed and she collapsed onto her side, crying inconsolably into one of the plush cushions lying on the arm of the couch.

For weeks, she had been trying to hold back her feelings of utter uselessness. Now, in the quiet and without the worry of witnesses to her weakness, she couldn't hold back the flood any longer. She was just too damn tired... never throughout the whole pregnancy had she felt so hopeless. Both of her sisters in law were so much better at motherhood than she was and Michael's arrival hadn't helped her stress levels. She had seen the way he looked at her and then the expression on his face when her mother had mentioned marriage... _Why would he want to marry her? She was nothing like the woman she had been in Miami and he was being as good as being bullied into staying around._

" _You don't have to worry about me running. I'm pretty sure if I try to step outta that door, I'll get shot down by one of your brothers."_

As soon as he had said it, he had apologized, but the words had been eating away at her in the back of her mind. _Yes, he'd come for her, but he'd obviously been displeased by what he had found._

She had no idea how long she lie there drowning in her misery. But upon hearing the creak of the door opening, she sat up and furiously scrubbed at her face, trying to hide the signs of her breakdown as the two puppies padded into the room ahead of the pram and then Rosanna appeared.

"Aw, sweetheart, whot's tha matter?"

Fiona could barely bring herself to look at the young blond who rushed over to kneel in front of her, gently taking her hands in an effort to comfort her.

"I knew dis wa' comin'... come on, luv..." Rosie tenderly stroked her sister in law's cheek, thumbing away a couple of tears, while urging her to stand up. "Am gonna run ya a bath an' then yer goin' ta bed wit' a nice cup o' hot chocolate."

"Wh-wh-what about tha b-b-" Fiona hiccuped as she got to her feet.

"Thar fine. Thar asleep now. C'mon then..."

She stifled another sniffle and let Sean's wife lead her out of the living room on unsteady feet. One look at her children blissfully in dreamland sent another flow of salt water to her eyes as Rose guided her into the tiny bathroom.

"Don'tcha worry, am gonna sort it all out fer ya, I promise." Rose dropped down the seat on the toilet and coaxed the older woman to sit before turning the taps on to run the bath. "Am putting in some o' yar favorite bubble bath an' I'm gonna get me best shampoo fer ya ta use. Nar, let's get ya outta yar clothes."

Feeling completely numb, she let her sister in law undress her and then followed the instructions to climb into the hot bath. Settling down, submerged in the bubbles, she let her head loll back over the edge of the bath.

"Am gonna make a quick phone call while am gettin' a clean nightie. I'll be right back." Leaving the door to the room open just a crack, Rose hurried into Fiona's bedroom and, while she went through the drawers in search of some nightwear, she brought out her phone and pressed the speed dial.

"Bella, I need ya ta come o'er. Can ya bring thot box o' formula o'er wit' ya an' tha rest o' tha gear?... Aye, I t'ink we've let t'ings go on as long as we can. I know she wanted ta do t'ings tha way har mammy did, but let's face it, none o' us is Maeve Glenanne."

()()()()()

"Dis is tha overhead view o' Kilrush aerodrome. It's in tha middle o' nowhere, but don't let thot fool ya." Colin Glenanne sat back in his chair and let the man leaning over his shoulder take a good long look at the small country airport where Armand Andreani was due to land in the next forty eight hours.

Michael narrowed his eyes and studied the single runway with a few hangars to one side. It looked to be in a remote location surrounded by open fields and the only road to it was long, straight with no side roads for several miles, basically a tactical nightmare.

"See tham flood lights?" Colin enlarged the picture. "Look at which way thar pointin', I bet those fields are lit up like Christmas at night an' thot fence... I did some checkin' an' it's electrified an' thar's a security patrol inside wit' dogs."

Michael pursed his lips. It looked like Liam wasn't going to get his wish. There was no way he was getting in there with a bomb and getting it on board what was probably going to be a heavily guarded plane.

"That's a lot of security for some little airport. Is that normal?" he asked.

"It's used by some o' tha richest people in racin'... Thar's twelve o' tha biggest stud farms in Eire within thirty miles and thot's not including all tha fancy hotels and houses around tha area. Unless ya've been keeping quiet about some super spy skills we know nuttin' about, ya ain't getting' inta thot place wit' out some big fancy distraction."

This wasn't what he wanted to hear. Liam had made it very clear he desired a big bang and preferable with a fireball descending into the sea, but that was unlikely now. He watched as Colin pressed a few keys and brought up a photograph of a large Georgian manor house and next to it the blue print for the house and its grounds.

"Dis is tha Antoinette farm. Tis a four hundred acre thoroughbred stud an' training center. Armand bought tha place back in '92 when he first started doin' business o'er har... It's got eighteen bedrooms an' twenty bathrooms, a ballroom, an indoor swimming pool an' gym. He employs a permanent staff o' eight at tha house an' tha rest o' tha staff travel wit' ham whar ever he goes. Ya'll never hit ham thar. He has state o' tha art security an' a whole team o' bodyguards. Fiona used ta complain about 'em followin' har around all tha time."

Up until the last two sentences, Michael had been studying the blue print carefully. But then he turned all his attention to the smirking redhead who was staring back at him.

"Fiona lived there?"

"Aye, when she wa' in tha country, which warn't often. She travelled tha world twice over wit' ham. He doted on har like yar wouldnae believe an' our mam loved ham. She wa' proper heartbroken when Fi left ham."

"Why – why did she leave him?" Michael couldn't help but asking.

"She never said. She came home an' wa' a right bitch ta everybody, especially Claire, God rest har. Ya couldnae speak ta Fi wit'out getting' yar head bitten off. She worked wit' Seamus fer a while an' then she talked Liam inta lettin' har join Sean on PIRA business."

Michael glanced back at the blue prints of the house and gardens and his eyes zeroed in on a small walled garden marked ' _Fiona's Garden.'_ He read the name attached and scowled.

"Ha, I wondered if ya'd notice thot." Colin grinned, but almost immediately he shrank back in his chair as Michael leaned in closer, his lips nothing but a thin line and his eyes narrowed to slits.

"Yer a clever man, Colin Glenanne, an' me guess is ya know exactly why Fiona left Armand." The American accent was gone, replaced by the low dangerous lilt of an angry Irishman as Michael growled into the redhead's ear. "Cuz if ya didnae t'ink ta snoop yarself, am pretty sure Liam told ya ta do it."

"Ah, well, ya may have a point thar." Colin shifted and used his elbows to make his future brother in law back off. "Jus' befer she came home, Armand sent har out ta Bosnia ta make a delivery..."

Michael closed his eyes, his own memories of that particular hell hole filling his mind. His six months amongst so much death and depravity had very nearly driven him insane.

"She saw some - _stuff_ tha shook har up an' as soon as she could, she ran away an' came home whar she wa' safe. I wa' livin' wit' me mam at thot time an' Fi, she dinnae know it, but I used ta hear har screaming an' sobbin' in har sleep. I'd be guessin' tha place opened har eyes ta whar all his money wa' comin' fram an' har conscience couldn't take it no more." Colin risked turning round in his chair as Michael suddenly moved away to stare out of the window.

 _She ran away from Armand, left behind a world of glamour and riches, because she couldn't live with a man with no conscience._

Michael bit down, his bottom lip disappearing inside his teeth as he remembered the look on her face when he went to work with Strickler. He had driven her away trying to get a job back he now realized he didn't even want.

Turning back, he spun Colin's chair round until the computer geek was back facing the monitor. "Show me tha aerodrome ag'in... I wanta see thot access road."

()()()()

In the middle of the night, in pitch black of the Irish countryside, he had opened the back door of the slow moving car and rolled out onto the cold hard surface of a deserted country lane, narrowly missing ending up under the wheels of the old Series 2 Land Rover as it continued on its way. Gasping as he tried to control the pain radiating from his still healing cracked ribs, his back and then his side hitting the hard ground, Michael hurriedly got back onto to his feet as the car tail lights became tiny dots in the distance.

Ducking down low, he ran to where two bags had landed on the soft grass verge ahead of him and, after taking a quick look around, he dove over the stone wall on the left hand side of the road and settled down for what was going to be an uncomfortable thirty six hours.

Once he had found a suitable spot to hideout, Michael picked up the small folding shovel which had been in the back pack and went back over the wall and onto the road. By the time the sky began to lighten, he was safely hidden under a large sheet of old tarpaulin, which from a distance would appear to be part of the stones and rocks which lay close to the wall.

He stayed hidden all day, listening to the occasional car or truck which came past. He knew from what Liam had told him that just before Armand was due to arrive, he would hear motorcycles on the lane as the arms dealers security detail made sure the road was clear.

Lying there, keeping as still as possible, gave him a lot of time to think and, however much he tried to stop himself, all he could think about was Fiona and the two babies that he had left behind in a farmhouse over a fifty miles away. He knew he had been acting like an ass, but he had arrived in Ireland with the sole purpose of talking Fiona into returning with him to Miami and the one thing her family seemed dead set upon was giving them as little time alone as possible. It was beyond his understanding. It wasn't like they were kids, though it certainly felt like they were being treated like a pair of teenagers.

" _Take me advice, Mikey, drop tha feckin' attitude. Ya protected har. If Liam wa' gonna kill ya, he woulda done it already. So stop ya frettin' an' jus' accept tha fact thot yer one o' us nar."_

They were adults. They had been together on and off for years. It had nothing to do with the rest of Fiona's family what they saw fit to do. He had given up everything to come and find her. He hadn't even thought about what the consequences would be when he had shot Tom Strickler and afterwards he hadn't really cared. So, why did they think he should care about their opinion of him?

" _Dey cannae be livin' in sin wit' two babbies..._ _Thar will be a marriage, Fiona Cairan Glenanne... An befer tha wee ones have ta be registered...Tha pair o' ya have this week ta t'ink it o'er and decide how ya want ta arrange t'ings."_

He paused, suddenly wondering what his objection was to marrying Fiona Glenanne. He didn't want to be with anybody else. He had to admit he was missing the twins. He hadn't been allowed to sleep in the room with their mother, but he had been going in early in the morning and holding them, laying them side by side on the bed and watching them for hours, or at least until Sian, Molly or one of the others came in to take them away.

He rested his head on his arms and tried to think what married life might be like. Seamus made it sound so easy and watching the two married Glenanne men with their families had showed him it could be done. Certainly not so back in Miami, where he was good as a sitting duck. But here, in Ireland, where he had an army at his back, it seemed as though it might be possible.

" _D'ya t'ink if anybody tried ta harm a hair on one o' tham kiddies' heads, it would only be me they'd be dealin' wit'? War an army, lad. Ya cut one o' us an' we all bleed. Thot includes ya, ya know thot, dontcha?"_

With Seamus' words echoing in his head and thoughts of starting a new life in Ireland swirling in his mind, Michael didn't hear the roar of the descending jet plane until it was over the top of him. Moments later came the deep rumble of a half dozen motorcycles, cruising slowly along the lane and making a final check for anybody lying in wait.

As soon as it was clear and the surrounding countryside returned to silence, Michael began to move. Pulling out his radio, he switched it on.

"Ya better be ready, Liam. I'm gonna be coming out hot."

" _Remember whot I told ya, McBride. Don't feck dis up, we won't get a second chance."_

"Jus' be ready." Michael switched the radio off and slowly drew back the tarpaulin and crept along the stone wall, ducking as five motorcycles came roaring back along the lane.

" _It's a long straight road. Ya kin see all tha way along it... Thar's no way ya kin set up an ambush," Colin had scoffed at his plan._

As soon as the bikes sped past, he got to his feet, raised the rifle, sighted and squeezed the trigger, all in one smooth motion. The rider in the middle of the group slumped forward and then the bike crashed over onto its side before flipping over and over and taking out all the other bikes in its path.

As soon as he had pulled the trigger, Michael had dropped the gun and picked up the remote trigger switch he had laid on the wall. Pressing down on the button, he blew a large hole in the road, blocking the way for the two large SUVs which were descending on his position.

Without pausing, Michael sent two smoke grenades towards the vehicles and then took off running as fast as he could before the smoke cleared and he became a target. Reaching the scene of the motorcycle crash, he saw Liam Glenanne standing over one of the bodies with a revolver in his hand.

"Ya did good, McBride. Ya got ham dead center an' he snapped his neck comin' off."

The figure on the ground had had his crash helmet removed to reveal the swarthy features and long dark hair of Armand Andreani.

" _Armand likes speed and danger. He'll be riding amongst the outriders, most likely in tha middle o' tha group. But if ya kin hit tha one in tha middle, it should bring tha rest down and I'll clean up if ya don't get ham."_

They got into the waiting car and drove off, reaching the main road into Kildare as the first police car flashed by racing to the scene of carnage. Sean kept the vehicle to a steady speed into Kildare where they transferred to another car, leaving the first vehicle a flame.

"Ya left tha rifle?" Liam asked.

"Yeah, but you never said why." Michael rested back, feeling weary after a full thirty six hours lying out in the open.

"It's connected ta a robbery done in Donegal. It'll lead tha Garda ta a man I'd like ta see inna a prison cell." Liam twisted around in the passenger seat so he could look Michael in the eye. "Thot gun will trace back ta tha brudder o' tha money launderer Fiona blew ta pieces. Tha slippery weasel knows I want ta have a word wit' ham. But once he's locked up, thars a whole load of fellas inside who'll only be all too happy ta have a word wit' him fer me... Fiona's in tha clear."

Michael smiled back and then with a groan sat forward. "In light of the mess we've left behind us, I think it's about time I get myself in the clear. Before somebody puts two and two together."

Liam frowned and Sean glanced back at him. Both men were unhappy about what he said he had to do. "Ya want me ta come wit' ya, McBride?" Liam asked.

"No, this is going to require a delicate touch if I'm to walk away."

"I kin do delicate. I wa' trainin' ta be a surgeon," Liam replied, his expression completely serious.

"I think it's better if I go in alone," Michael repeated firmly, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Once he'd completed this one last mission, he would be turning his back on his old life forever.

()()()

Michael had been surprised to find that, when he asked Colin Glenanne to furnish him with a list of MI-6 officers that were known to the PIRA, the name of the man who had been his second handler during his Irish assignment had come up. Richard Chambers was now Sir Richard Chambers OBE and was no longer an intelligence officer, but was now employed in the diplomatic corps as a liaison between the Northern Ireland office of the UK government and Irish government.

He had also been pleased to see Sir Richard was living in Dublin and, thanks to Colin's ability to work his way around Home Office firewalls, he had discovered the man worked late most evenings and travelled home in a chauffeur driven car.

It had been easy for Michael to ambush and knock out the driver of Chamber's BMW series 7 sedan and then, once dressed in the man's uniform, he had waited for the phone call to pick up Sir Richard.

Just as he had suspected, his former MI-6 handler failed to recognize him, even when they had been close up as he held open the door for the diplomatic officer to step into the vehicle. Once on the road, Michael locked all the doors and drove out of the city. It was only when they missed the turn for Chamber's country residence that he finally took any notice of the man behind the wheel.

Michael felt the tap on his shoulder.

"Is there a problem? You've missed the turning."

Slowing the car down, Michael pulled over to the side of the road and twisted around the seat. Smiling grimly, he pointed the barrel of a SIG Sauer Liam had given him at the British agent and with his free hand removed the chauffeur's cap from his head.

"D'ya recognize me, Chamber's? D'ya know who I am?"

Chamber's piggy little eyes narrowed and his skin paled as, when he looked closer, recognition came to his eyes and his skin then flushed in anger.

"You! What are you doing here?" He fumbled to pull his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, which Michael easily snatched from his hand before he could call for help.

"We're gonna have a wee talk, thot's all. D'ya understand me, _Dickie?_ "

"Are you on assignment? Nothing has come -"

"No, am no longer employed by any agency."

Realization dawned and a look of disgust clouded the man's features. "I was right about you. All those years ago, I said you'd go native."

Michael sucked in a breath; that was _exactly_ what he was doing, changing sides. Then he thought of those two babies and the woman he loved and he didn't care what a man like Richard Chambers thought of him. He didn't care what anyone in any intelligence office thought of him. They had chewed him up and spit him out after all he had done for them.

"Aye, well, thot's as may be. I jus' wanta make one t'ing clear ta ya... Me name is Michael McBride, an' tha first time I hear tha hint o' some Brit or one o' yar loyalist friends say any different, I'll have a nice little tale ta tell how I passed along a warning t'ya thot tha Real IRA wa' planning a big bombing in Omagh an' you dismissed me intel an' all tham innocent men women and children died cuz ya didn't want ta take tha word o' me asset."

"You have no proof of that!" The MI-6 officer snapped, his face suffused with fury. "You think you can blackmail me?!"

Michael barred his teeth in a smile which told his former handler that it was exactly what he thought. Omagh was a big thorny issue in British intelligence circles; it was one of those events which could easily destroy years of careful negotiation. There were plenty of conspiracy theories about how much the British knew before the car bomb went off, killing twenty nine people and injuring over two hundred more.

"Oh, I _know_ I can," Michael replied with his own American accent. "I have the evidence locked away. It's safe, unless I die, and then of course it would be up to whomever I have given the key to access my private files." He clicked off the safety and curled his finger around the trigger of the handgun. "An' if I should survive any attempt on me life, ya better be prepared ta run an' hide deep cuz I'd make it me life's work ta rain hell down on all of ya."

Michael watched as the other man slumped back in defeat. "So, that's it? You just want me to keep quiet?"

"I want ya ta destroy every file thot mentions Michael Westen or Michael McBride... An' I want ta be _left in peace_."

"If you commit _any_ crime, _any_ act of terrorism, I cannot be -"

"Ya let me worry about thot. Jus' make sure nobody ever mentions Westen an' McBride in tha same sentence ever again."

Chambers pursed his lips and nodded his head. It was clear to him the former CIA agent had completely lost all sense of right and wrong. He had of course heard the rumors of a burn notice. Now it made all sense.

"Fine… As far as the government of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland is concerned, Michael Westen was never here... Now, get out of my car."

()()()()()()()

It had been a short run to where Michael had concealed a motorbike, helmet and riding gear up the road. He'd taken the BMW keys and thrown them as far as he could back down the road away from the car and he'd kept Chambers cell phone long enough crush it under his boot heel and fling it into the surrounding woods. The old bastard could get out and walk a bit.

The drive back to where Sean was waiting for him with a panel truck, the wind whistling past him in the night air, had been exhilarating. Despite the fact that he was headed back towards Fiona's overbearing family, he feel free... truly free in a way he hadn't in years. Michael had enjoyed the latitude he was given as an operative, but there had always been someone giving him orders, reports to file, objectives to fulfil... all decided by someone else and he was only as good as his last mission.

As he flew down the road, back to the arms of the woman he loved... _yes, he loved her_ , the former spy realized in heady rush, and he was _free to love her_ , in a way he had only dreamed about when he had first met her. He had an army of Irish allies that would have words with anyone who tried to say otherwise and, as he pulled the bike next to his former colleague against the RIRA and future brother in law, he realized that he was happy to be able to say that, too.

He had always fought against being connected to anyone outside of his professional life, finding family and relationships to be a huge liability. But for the first time in his life, Michael thought with a smile as visions of his soon to be wife and his children danced in his head, those things had become assets, the most important assets ever.

 _Now he could do what he had wished he could do a decade ago..._

 _And just be Michael McBride._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _This is the fourth part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 4 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 4**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Near Blessington, Ireland, 2010_

"Ya look beautiful, sweetheart."

Maeve Glenanne walked around her daughter, her slender fingers dancing lightly over the lace and silk wedding dress, smoothing down the fabric and straightening out the train of finest handmade Irish lace. "Yar Aunty Claire said ya wouldnae be able to spot tha alterations and she wa' right."

The dress had been Maeve's own bridal gown, which had been carefully stored for over half a century. The intricate woven lace, which formed the skirt and train had been antique when the dress had been made, looked as good as the day it had very first been worn.

"It's a magnificent gown to to be sure. Michael will be blown away when he sees ya." Picking up a few hair pins, Isabelle set about putting the finishing touches to her sister in law's hair.

Fiona Glenanne, soon to be McBride, sighed, unable to speak. The last month had brought about so many changes, she was still trying to get her head around it all.

Staring at herself in the full length mirror of her mother's bedroom, she saw for the first time a hint of the woman she had been before she had fled Miami. Admittedly not as slender and without a golden tan but inside where it counted most, she no longer was stuck in the pit of despair in which she had fallen into after the birth of her babies.

"Am still not sure this is happening," she murmured softly as her mother reached up to adjust the head-piece encrusted with tiny diamonds.

"It's long past bein' decent, so it better be happening," Maeve scolded gently, a hint of a smile curving her lips. "Thar wa' a time I thought, I wa' gonna have ta get tha shotgun out fer both o' ya. Ya war as bad as each other."

"Ma," Fiona sighed. "Ya know -"

"Oh, sweetheart, yer too serious, child." Maeve took hold of her daughter's hands. "Ya may have done t'ings backwards, but am proud o' ya... Ya have given me two more grandbabies, an' ya have a man who loves ya. Whot more could I wan'?" She gave Fiona's hands a squeeze and then let go. "Nar, Colin is waitin' ta take me ta tha church an' Liam is gonna bring ya along in a little while." She kissed her daughter's pale cheek. "Remember ta breathe, darlin' an' ya'll be fine."

"I'll try ta remember, mammy," Fiona answered in a small voice, suddenly feeling very young.

"Fi, am gonna see yar mam out ta tha car an' jus' check on tham girls and I'll be right back." Isabelle gave the bride's arm a squeeze and then followed the older woman out of the room to go check on the bridesmaids, her own daughters, eighteen year old Maggie along with Molly and their cousin Sian.

Left on her own, Fiona continued to stare at her reflection. A month ago she had been ready to give up completely. At the time, she had been incapable of seeing a way forward. She was convinced she didn't have a single shred of mothering instinct in her body and that she was never going to be able to do the job all the other women surrounding her did so naturally.

" _Mammy, it's not fair."_ Molly's voice sounded through the wall from the bedroom next door. _"Why does Maggie get ta wear high heels?"_

" _Maggie is older -"_

" _Aunty Belle, am older than Molly, why cannae I wear me heels? Me Mammy bought me some shoes wit' heels fer me birthday,"_ Sian piped up in an equally loud voice.

" _Yer not wearing heels an thot's an end ta it! I dunno whot's getting' inta ya both, wantin' ta grow up befer yar time. Ya don't wanta - Margaret Maeveen will ya get off tha phone an' help me wit' tha girls? Yer supposed ta be watchin' tham. Whar's Molly's ribbon?... Tha ribbon I put in her hair not half an hour ago. I swear if thot's Kevin Brody yer talkin' ta, I'm gonna tell yar daddy an' then see whot happens."_

Hearing the voices through the wall brought a smile to Fiona's face. It had only been four short weeks ago that she had been on the end of one of Isabelle Glenanne's stern lectures.

()()()()()()()()

Four weeks earlier she had been a total mess, barely able to cope with motherhood and Michael had been, if not exactly a prisoner, at least an unwilling guest of her family who had wanted a marriage or a funeral and didn't seem too bothered about which fate he chose.

But something had happened over the course of a few days which changed everything.

 _Dressed in a clean nightie and cocooned under a goose down duvet inside a freshly laundered Egyptian cotton cover, she had lain perfectly still in the center of her bed, staring blankly up into space, her long hair freshly washed in Roseanne's favorite shampoo draped over her shoulder in a loose plait._

 _In the dark and unnatural quiet, her mind had demanded she should quit her worrying and surrender to a good nights sleep. Yet as much as she had wanted to, her body had fought against the feeling of fatigue, the ache in her breasts demanding she get out of bed and find out why her babies weren't crying for her attention._

 _Unable to fight against instinct, she had reached for her dressing gown and climbed wearily out of the bed. Moving like an automaton, she had crossed the room and only to come to a stop, hesitating as her hand curled around the door handle._

 _Gulping, she had forced down a sob as memories of how she had made a fool of herself earlier had filled her mind, making her wonder what she was going to find when she stepped through the door. Had Rose told them all about her blubbering like an idiot, an idiot who was incapable of looking after her own children?_

 _A shudder had run through her body and she'd let her head fall forward to rest against door as thoughts of her inadequacies rampaged through her mind._

 _This was ridiculous, she'd scolded herself. She was a tough independent woman of the world. After taking a couple of deep calming breaths with a flick of her wrist, she'd unlatched the door and stepped into the hallway._

 _There had been no sounds coming from the lounge, no children arguing, no adults shouting to be heard over the din and no babies wailing loudly for attention. Glancing down at her wristwatch, she'd double checked the time: Six PM. The house should have been alive to the sound of her extended family having dinner around the kitchen table._

 _Cautiously, she had walked into the living room to find Rose and Isabelle sitting there on the couch watching TV with the sound on low, each holding a twin and feeding them from a bottle._

" _Whot's this?" she'd asked, stepping further into the room, not knowing if she should be furious or grateful._

 _Isabelle had gotten to her feet and gestured with a nod of her head._

" _Sit down, Fi... We need ta talk wit' ya," she'd spoken softly but in a tone which meant business and then, before Fiona could utter a word, she'd handed her her son. "Ya need some help, luv... Ya can't be doin it all on ya own. Thar's no shame ta it."_

 _She helped Fiona sit and then waited while Sean latched onto his mama's nipple._

" _Yer worn out, Fiona," Rosanna had added. "An givin' tham some formula will help ya' gain some o' yar strength back."_

" _But - whot are ya sayin'? Ya both - me mammy - it's just me." Her words had come out in a jumble, as she had been dumbfounded by it all and too worn out to truly argue._

" _Oh Jayzuz..." Rose had rolled her eyes. "Is thot whot ya t'ink? I know he'd never admit ta it, but Sean did his fair share o' night feeds, I bet Shay did too an ya've got two o' tham, Fi. Fer Christ sake's, sweetheart, give yarself a break, ya don't have ta be some sorta super woman."_

 _Claire, having heard and smelt her mother's presence, had begun to fuss and refused to take any more nourishment from the bottle, beginning to grizzle for some of the real stuff. While Rosanna had manoeuvred the infant into position and propped the cushions in place to help support Fiona's arms, Isabelle had disappeared into the kitchen to make a pot of tea and put together a plate of sandwiches._

 _When Isabelle had returned laden with sustenance for the new mother, the older woman had held her tongue until after she had poured the tea and gotten herself comfortable, sitting perched on the edge of the table. Then, with her emerald green eyes fixed firmly on Fiona, she had begun to speak._

" _I want ya ta listen ta me. Yer takin' on too much. Yer feeding tham two babbies but we hardly see ya eat a t'ing. Thot cannae continue. Yer also frettin' about yar fella and ya won't let tha wee ones help ya out. Yar man is big enough ta look after his-self and Sian can change a nappy an' if ya would let har Molly can take tha babbies outside in tha pram fer a walk an' ya could put yar feet up fer ten minutes. Ya don't have ta follow tham girls around all tha time."_

 _She had gone to speak in her defense, but Isabelle wasn't finished. "I want ya ta promise me, yer gonna start eatin', an' yer gonna start toppin' up yar babbies feed wit' formula. Yar fella can larn ta work tha sterilizer an' am sure he knows how ta use tha microwave. Once yer married an' ya have yar own place -"_

" _Isabelle, I don' think -" she had finally managed to get a word in. At the time, she had been pretty sure Michael hadn't come to Ireland to ask for her hand in marriage and, regardless of what her family thought, she had been determined that she wasn't going to make him do something he didn't want to do._

 _The older woman had narrowed her emerald colored eyes and leaned forward._

" _If dis is about yar mammy, am gonna give ya few facts, an' remember, Fiona Glenanne, I lived on tha same street as ya off tha Falls Road in Belfast an' I've known yar whole family fer o'er thirty years... Yar mammy raised tha lotta ya on har own an' she did a damn good job o' it; nobody is denyin' it."_

 _Isabelle paused and took a sip of her tea before gesturing with the cup for emphasis._

" _But she didnae have twins! Yar Patrick, God rest him, wa' two years old when Liam wa' born an' thar's same between Liam an' Shay an' even more between tha rest o' ya. She also had yar Nanny O'Keefe an' yar Grandma Fionulla thar ta help her while yar daddy wa' locked away in Long Kesh or off makin' bombs fer tha IRA. So start listening ta them thot knows whot yer goin' through. I took all tha help I could get wit' Dara an' Brendan. Nar ya have ta do tha same."_

 _Fiona's heart had thudded in her chest as she'd stared down at the heads of her babies, the relief she felt overwhelming her burnt out emotions as tears had sprung into her eyes. All she had been able to do was nod dumbly and swallow down her fears._

" _Good girl," Isabelle's voice had taken on a note of warmth. "Nar, as soon as tham babies are finished, yer gonna put tham down fer a sleep an' yer gonna eat at least a couple of them sandwiches an' have a large cuppa tea an' then wa' gonna talk some more."_

 _The talking had gone on for hours, as the three of them had worked out a schedule for the babies and Fiona had finally accepted that just maybe she didn't have to live up to her idolized conception of her mother's abilities._

It had been while she was still coming to terms with the changes to her live that a new fear had begun to rear it's head: Michael was missing. He had left the farmhouse with Sean that morning and since then there had been no word from either of them.

She had spent the whole next day worrying about what her brothers might have done to the father of her babies. But her sister in laws had assured her that nothing of the sort had happened.

" _Seamus told me jus' befer he left fer Spain, Liam wanted Mike ta help him out wit' a little problem an' they'd be back in a few days,"_ Isabelle had informed her when she'd asked.

" _Whot little job?"_ She'd begged for more details and that was when she'd been given a hard reminder of what life was like for Glenanne women.

" _I dinnae ask... If they want us ta know, they'd a told us. Nar let it rest, Fiona," h_ ad been her sister in law's stern retort.

And she'd tried, but the following morning she had been unable to stop the flow of questions, as all she could think was how if Michael had disappeared six months ago, she would have been out armed to the teeth hunting him down and ready to do a bit of damage herself if anybody had harmed him.

" _Have ya not heard fram Sean yet?"_ she'd asked Rose for the tenth time on the third day and it wasn't even lunch time yet.

" _Stop frettin', ya know whot thar like... If anyt'in' had happened, somebody woulda come an' told us,"_ Rose had replied bluntly. _"Ya cannae be running around after yar man any more, Fi. Ya have tha babbies ta t'ink about nar. They'll be home when they get har."_

Rose's bland acceptance of her husband's behavior had grated on Fiona's nerves, but what had been worse was the bubbling frustration she had felt at not being able to do a thing about it. It had been difficult to follow Isabelle's orders to rest, eat and recoup her strength while her wayward lover was missing again.

On the evening of the third day, she had been relieved when Liam had returned to check on her, knowing she would be worried. However she had ended up spending the rest of the evening alternating between being relieved that her eldest brother had bothered to travel out of his way to assure her everything was being taken care of and worried that what Liam had actually meant was he'd left Sean to dispose of Michael's body.

Finally, after Liam had left to make his way over to their mother's home, Sean had called to say they were on their way back and that had set up a new line of concern, as her self-doubt questioned why Michael hadn't asked to speak to her, to reassure her he was fine and would be home soon.

It had been after midnight when both men arrived back at the farmhouse and discovered the changes the womenfolk had made to the living arrangements. As soon they had walked through the door, Rosanna had taken hold of Sean's arm and pulled him into the kitchen and while Michael had looked warily around the room as he picked up on the atmosphere.

Fiona had taken a second to drink in the sight of him, his face already sporting a whiskery scruff and his long black hair wind-blown and tousled. Then she'd had seized her opportunity and her man and, in a similar move to Rosanna's, she had taken hold of Michael's hand and without uttering a word pulled him along the hallway and into her bedroom.

" _Fi…" He had sighed her name and then surprised her by taking hold of her arms and drawing her in against his body. "Ar' ya alright?"_

 _He had whispered into her ear and then proceeded to take her breath away as he'd begun to kiss her. Her cheek first and then her lips, soft and tender pecks, until she had sighed and relaxed into his arms and then, obviously feeling more sure himself, he had deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing against her teeth enticing her to surrender to him completely._

 _There in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, she let go of all her worries and frustration and returned his kiss, her arms wrapping around him tightly as her hands lightly glided over his back and sides, reacquainting herself with the lines of his muscular frame._

 _When he broke the kiss, she sagged against him and was grateful when he eased her down onto the edge of the bed. Sitting down next to her, he stroked his fingers lightly over her cheek while his eyes carefully surveyed the room._

" _Where are they? Sean and Claire… I thought -"_

" _Shhh…" She'd placed a finger over his lips to stop his words. "Thar in Rose's room...I – I needed a rest, an – and -"_

 _Her chest had begun to heave and, seeing the look of concern etched into his features, she had forced herself to calm down._

" _Isabelle and Rose…" She sought the right words to explain. "We hadda a long conversation and we've made some changes. After Sean called ta say ya war on yar way back, we decided thot she would watch tha babies tonight so we could talk."_

 _She'd waited for him to tell her he couldn't go through with the responsibilities of fatherhood, that he had too many enemies out there, that if he stayed around he would be a danger to them all, that how his old job was far more important than having a family and settling down._

 _But instead he had nodded solemnly and taken both her hands in his._

" _Yes, talk…" he had agreed eagerly, his gaze flickering over her as if he was looking at her for the first time. "Er, I… ah…" Then his voice had fallen away._

" _I understand." She remembered thinking at the time that she didn't understand at all. "Your job -"_

" _No!" he'd interrupted her, his features having taken on a hint of panic. "I – er- I mean, I…"_

 _He'd gulped and then he had taken a breath and his whole demeanor had changed._

" _I – I've just spent a whole night and day lying out in a field waiting for - well, that doesn't matter, I'll tell you about that later. But the important thing is -"_

 _He took another breath and combed a hand through his long unruly hair, which had flopped down over his forehead, before returning to clasping her hands._

" _It was while I was out there I realized I didn't want that life any more... I want this one, with you... If you'll have me that is…"_

 _She hadn't answered him immediately and, in her defense, she had been through a lot recently. At the time, she hadn't been sure she had heard him correctly._

" _Whot exactly is it ya want, Michael? Ya want ta run round Ireland wit' me brudders? Why?"_

 _He had taken hold of her shoulders and leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose._

" _I want ya, a life with ya, an' wit' our babbies." He had stared into her eyes. "As fer tha rest o' it, I haven't gotta bally. But I'm free o' tha CIA, I've covered meself wit' MI-6 and thar gonna leave us alone." He took another deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Am askin' ya, Fiona Glenanne, will ya let me stay har wit' ya, forever?"_

She had been unable to answer him with words. Instead, she had reached out her fingers, combing through his mop of hair until they took a firm grip and pulled him into a hot demanding kiss which left them both breathless and seeing stars.

They had spent the rest of the night curled up together on her bed, talking and kissing, taking the first steps in repairing their damaged relationship and building on it, as throughout the night the talk of them had turned to Claire and Sean and their future as a proper family.

()()()()()()()()()

A sharp knock on the door brought Fiona back to the present.

"Fiona, it's time ta go, sweetheart," Liam called out as he opened the door wide and stepped inside.

Her oldest brother was dressed in a grey suit and, for once wearing, a tie. His sandy brown hair shot through with grey was freshly barbered and, as he held out his arm for her to take, she realized that his nails looked to have been manicured too.

Smiling mischievously, she wrapped her arm around his and stepped in closer.

"Yer looking good, Liam, very dapper, indeed. I heard all abou' yar day out in tha city."

He scowled down at her as they descended the stairs to where Isabelle waited with the three girls. "Aye, an' one day soon am gonna make thot fella o' yars pay fer all dis," he growled menacingly as he ran a finger inside the collar of his shirt and then tugged at the light blue silk tie.

Fiona laughed at the memory of Michael returning from a day long shopping trip in Dublin and how he had painted her a vivid picture of all four of her brothers on their first ever visit to an Armani store to be fitted for their wedding suits and shirts.

His description of not only Liam's reaction to being forced to stand while he was measured and later fitted for his new clothes but also of Seamus' hither too hidden knowledge of designer wear had amused her to no end. It turned out that during his years of making deals with wealthy arms dealers and warlords, some aspects of finer living had rubbed off on the normally laid back gun runner and smuggler, aspects he had up to that point kept hidden from the rest of the family.

The click and whir of a camera taking shots as they walked to where two white limousines waited to take them to the church caused both siblings to stop and glare. With the raise of one hand, Liam sent Seamus' twin boys Dara and Brendan rushing over in unison to disarm the photographer. While Dara tore the film from the camera, Brendan found the man's wallet and opened it up.

"Dis is Ray Taylor, tha press card says he's fram tha Informer."

Fiona felt her brother tense and, as much as her own temper flared at the intrusion, she forced herself to remain calm.

"Liam, let it go. Send him on his way."

With a curt nod of his head, Liam ordered his nephews to let the man go minus his camera and press card. "I tol' em no photos; thot it wa' a private affair," he growled dangerously.

"A private affair, wit' half tha PIRA council an' most o' tha Dublin underworld in attendance?" she countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye, well, tis interestin' times war livin' in, sweetheart... Tha death o' Tommy O'Neill an' thot bastid Andreani has opened a lotta old wounds. This weddin' is givin' some folk tha chance ta show whose side thar on."

They waited as Isabelle finished getting the girls into one car and then they got into the larger of the vehicles. Fiona did her best to push away the thoughts of what her one time lover Armand had planned for her if he had won the bidding war for her body. Today was a day for cheerful thoughts.

"Ya shoulda become a politician, Liam. Thar's not many men who coulda turn havin' an American spy joinin' tha family inta such a positive."

"Michael McBride, tha holy terror who killed tha men trying ta steal his woman, not once but twice," Liam smirked. "I've turned ham inta a feckin' folk hero. He has all O'Neill's former associates shakin' in thar boots." Liam sat back and smiled happily. "An' I don't know whot he said ta thot MI-6 man, but seeing how I've not seen a single Brit spook anywhere near this wedding, me guess is he put tha fear o' God inta tham. Not bad fer a Yank."

Fiona chuckled softly and then leaned over to place a kiss to her brother's cheek.

"I tol' ya befer, he has his moments."

()()()()()()()()()()

The small church which Maeve Glenanne attended twice weekly without fail was filled to bursting with all the people who wanted to welcome the happy couple back to their homeland and at the same time show their loyalty to the Glenanne clan.

The in-fighting and recent deaths caused by Thomas O'Neill's attempt to put Fiona Glenanne on the auction block had rocked the republican communities on both sides of the border. But now that there was a clear victor in the feud between the two families, those on the outside were all eager to get back to the business of peace and, just like any state affair, while the happy couple tied the knot, new alliances were being brokered by the guests sitting in the pews.

Michael and Fiona were just grateful that they got through the whole service without sinking into the floor as Father Conlon conducted the affair as only a dear family friend was able, with memories of Fiona as a gawky, awkward tomboy whose rebellious ways had meant she hadn't attended mass as often as she should and the back story Liam had given his mother's priest on the life of Michael McBride as an orphan from Kilkenny, who had recently returned from America to wed his long time sweetheart.

In the end, they had exchanged vows and matching white gold claddagh wedding rings, Fiona's having three diamonds decorating the crown in the center while Michael's had a wider and heavier band.

When they finally stood as a married couple and Michael had drawn her into a deep kiss, the little church had erupted into raucous cheers of the congregation. Photographs taken by a family friend was next on the agenda, followed by a short drive to a hotel which the owners had been paid a hefty sum of money to close for the day to allow for a truly private function.

But, in the end, after a tear filled goodbye to Sean and Claire, they had headed off for their first time as a married couple. Not to one of the rooms in the hotel, but to the house that Liam and Maeve had shown them a week earlier.

" _I bought dis place a coupla years ago. Been rentin' out ta tha Belgium government til three months ago. Nar it's yars," Liam had announced casually as they had stood on a piece of private parkland in what Michael would call a very high class gated community._

 _They were in the village of Monkstown, on the Southern edge of Dublin, looking at a magnificent three-story house with a long row of steps leading up to an impressive looking oak front door._

" _Thar's eight bedrooms, a fully fitted kitchen, a utility room, six bathrooms, a lounge, dining room, study and a games room, underground parkin' which ya get to round tha back an' I've jus' had all tha security updated including bullet resistant glass in all tha windows."_

" _This is too much," Michael answered, beginning to wonder exactly how he was supposed to pay the head of the family back._

" _Ya need a house and Liam has been kind enough ta find ya one. D'ya not like it?" Maeve had asked, taking hold of her daughter's arm. "It's in an excellent school area, an' yer close ta tha sea. Come wit' me, ya must see tha inside befer ya turn down ya brudder's generous gift."_

" _We're not -" Michael had begun to explain, but then given up as he realized that Maeve Glenanne had already decided where her only daughter was going to live._

The driver who delivered them to their new home was one of Liam's most trusted men. The large heavily muscled bodyguard insisted on escorting them all the way to the front step and then doing a quick sweep of the ground floor before standing to one side, holding the oak door open wide for Michael to carry his bride over the threshold.

"G'night ta ya both, Mr… Mrs McBride," he muttered lowly.

"An' a g'night to ya, too," Michael returned before kicking the door shut in the man's face.

Only after he heard the heavy bolts being locked into place did Liam Glenanne's enforcer walk down the steps and climb back into his vehicle. Pulling a radio out of his pocket, he scanned the surrounding area before issuing his orders.

"Thar inside, remember whot tha boss said. Yer ta stay outta sight, but be on yar guard."

Satisfied that even though he knew they were out there, he had been unable to spot the four man surveillance team watching over the McBride home, he driven back to the hotel to wait on his next job.

()()()()()()()()()

They didn't make it to the large luxurious bedroom on the first floor with its king size bed. They didn't even make it as far as the wide sweeping staircase which dominated the lobby. Instead, as soon as Michael kicked the door shut on the Glenanne bodyguard and dropped the locks into place, they had been in each other's arms.

It had been a long time for both of them, a time filled with uncertainty and great change. The last five weeks had been a special sort of torture for at least one of them. Michael couldn't remember another time in his life when he had wanted someone as much as he had wanted Fiona Glenanne during that time and no amount of cold showers had worked to quell the burning desire to claim her completely.

As soon as he clicked the last lock on the door into place, he drew his bride into his arms and poured all his love and desire into one long deep kiss, his body pressed up against hers as his arms held her tiny frame in a passionate embrace.

"I thought tha day would never end," Fiona sighed when they finally paused to take a breath.

"Tha day's not ended yet, luv. Yer jus' getting' ta the best bit," he whispered into her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck and causing her heart to flutter.

As his lips and teeth lingered over her ear and then set about ravishing her neck, his fingers tried to work loose the tiny padded buttons which ran the length of her spine.

"Michael, yer gonna rip it! When did ya get so clumsy? I swear ya used ta be able ta undo me bra by jus' thinkin' about it," she complained as her own hands had already undone the knot in his tie and opened the buttons on his shirt.

"Thar wa' a time when ya didn't bother wit' a bra…" He continued to nuzzle her neck. "I miss tham days." He smiled down at her and then abruptly turned her around so he could get a better look at how she was confined in the tight lace and silk ensemble.

"Mr. McBride, is thot any way ta treat yar bride?" She pouted at being manhandled.

But then as the buttons came undone, she gasped as he kissed his way down her spine from the back of her neck down to the edge of her lacy French cut panties. As the dress pooled at her feet, she carefully stepped out of the yards of delicate fabric before gathering the prized gown and laying carefully on the wooden bench besides the entryway.

Besides not wanting to face her mammy's wrath should anything happen to the family heirloom, she needed a moment to gather her courage. Turning to face him, she tried her best to retain her confidence.

In the last month, though he had spent several nights in her room, she had been careful not to let him catch sight of her body. Ankle length nighties and heavy dressing gowns had hidden away the fact she still held a little of her baby weight and the lithe hard muscles of the past had disappeared, the swell of her stomach and her breasts giving her a softer plumper appearance that left her unsure of herself.

"Beautiful…" she heard him murmur and a blush crept up her neck as she felt his eyes linger over her exposed flesh. "Jus' one more thing ta make things perfect…"

His fingers were in her hair, removing the clips which held the head piece in place and then working to remove every pin he could find, causing her lengthy locks to tumble free.

As his long supple digits combed through her hair, she reached out to stroke her palm over his cheek, then down the front of his open shirt. "Ya have too many clothes on."

But when she reached for the belt buckle about his waist, he stopped her.

"Not yet…" His arm dropped around her shoulders drawing her against his chest and his mouth descended upon hers again.

"Mi – chael, this isn't like you," she stuttered when the kiss finally ended.

"But it is jus' like McBride," he purred as he breathed in the scent of her hair. "An thot's tha man ya married, luv. D'ya remember all them nights in thot little flat on tha otherside o' tha city? We've come a long way, sweetheart, ta make it ta this grand place."

As he spoke, he undid the clasp on her bra, working the soft lacy article down her arms before discarding it on the floor.

Taking a step back, he held her hands and stared down at her body, tears filling his eyes. This was the mother of his children. She had given something precious, something he hadn't even known he wanted and now couldn't imagine living without. Slowly, he dropped to his knees in front of her and his arms folded about her hips as his cheek rested on her stomach.

She stood uncertain in the face of his emotional response, but the sensation of his skin against hers was igniting an all too familiar warmth in her belly.

"I want ta see ya, every inch o' ya," he murmured just before he edged her panties down for her to step out of and the whole time he was laying hundreds of gossamer soft kisses over her stomach and then lower still.

"Oh, Jayzuz!" she cried out suddenly, her fingers gripping his hair as with barely more than a touch of his tongue brushing over her center she came undone, floating on a cloud of bliss.

Holding her close, his arms helping to support her legs as they trembled with aftershocks, he stared up at her with a self-satisfied grin on his face as he basked in the knowledge that he had turned her into such a wreck with just a mere touch. "I tol' ya tha best o' tha day was yet ta come."

Then in one swift move, he was back on his feet, lifting her and then cradling her against his chest. "This night is all fer ya," he said as he started walking purposefully towards the stairs. "And it's only jus' begun."

The bedroom door was kicked open and Fiona landed on the bed, her limbs wantonly sprawled out. "Ya have me at a disadvantage, McBride." She reached up behind her and pulled a pillow down to rest under her head. "Here I am in just me high heels an' a smile while ya haven't even seen fit ta take off yar jacket."

It was his turn to blush as she smirked back at him, slowly and deliberately making a show of running the tip of her tongue over her lips as she undressed him with her eyes.

"Get on wit' it, Mr McBride, or d'ya wan' me ta give ya a hand?"

"I can manage, luv," he replied with a smirk of his own as he continued to enjoy the view she was presenting him. "Ya jus' lie back thar an' relax."

The jacket came off first, along with the made to measure tailored silk shirt which he took the time to place on a hanger before moving on to divesting himself of his under-shirt. Kicking off his shoes, he reached for his belt buckle only to be surprised to find Fiona in front of him.

"Hey!" he gasped as she made quick work of not only the belt but of undoing his pants too.

"I tol' ya ta get on wit' it. D'ya t'ink yer tha only one who's been waiting fer this?"

She palmed him over his boxers and her smile widened as she felt how ready he was for her.

"Let me help ya wit' this." She eased the waistband down over his hips and folded her hand around his throbbing manhood.

A soft moan escaped from his lips as he leaned into her touch. She looked up and saw his eyes were closed as his hips bucked against her hand.

"I need ya, Michael," she whispered into his ear, "I need ya now, d'ya need me?"

She moved backwards, her hand stroking up and down his length, coaxing him to follow her until she tumbled backwards, bringing him down on top of her.

Taking his weight on his arms, he gazed down at her, both of them suddenly unsure. This was a whole new chapter in their lives. They were no longer Fiona Glenanne, part time arms dealer and thief, and Michael Westen, full time spy, they were now Fiona and Mike McBride and they were responsible for two tiny lives and would be forever after.

He hesitated and swallowed thickly.

"Are ya scared?"

He looked down and saw she was smiling up at him.

"I asked do I scare ya, Michael McBride?"

Her hand guided him to where she wanted him most, her thumb circling over the head of his manhood, sending sparks of desire shooting throughout his body.

"Scared?" He returned her smile, lowering himself enough to place a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Ya bloody terrify me, woman."

Her back arched up and a sweet moan slipped from between her gently parted lips as he pushed into her, feeling her form a tight warm sheath about him. Breathing deeply, he went as slowly as he could, determined not to bring her any pain.

But slow and gentle, when the woman he loved writhed so wantonly underneath him and whose long legs wrapped about his waist urging him on with threats of bodily violence, could only last so long. His body trembled from the effort he was putting into remaining in control and then as her walls fluttered about him and her fingernails dragged down his sides, his brain whited out and he lost all control as he reached orgasmic bliss far sooner than he had hoped.

He collapsed on to his side next to her, both of them breathing heavily, the smile on her face and the slightly dazed look in her eyes enough to tell him all was well regardless of how fast things had gone.

Stroking his hand down her cheek and then letting it trail over the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he settled his hand over one plump soft breast.

"I'll do better next time," he promised, hoping she wasn't disappointed. "Ya jus' so -"

She stopped his apology with a kiss, making sure he got the message he had nothing to apologize for.

"Ya exhaust me, McBride," she spoke softly, peppering his face with kisses, "But as ya said tha night isn't over."

And it wasn't...

The second time found them slightly more capable of maintaining that languid pace he'd intended after hours of cuddling and kissing, petting and playfully applying hands and tongues to body parts that had longed for a familiar touch. As they were intimately joined together, staring into one another's eyes with that mix of ecstasy and adoration that had characterized their couplings when they had first met over a decade ago, moving together towards mutual bliss, it was the homecoming both had always wanted, but neither ever thought they would have.

And still there was more…

By the time morning came, the couple were completely sated, sleeping wrapped in each other's arms, both with relaxed smiles on their faces. For the following twenty four hours, they were left completely alone to renew their relationship and to become reacquainted with each other as man and wife.

()()()()()()()()()()

But by the second morning, Michael surprised Fiona by informing her shyly that he was missing Sean and Claire. Two hours after Fi made the call to ask Isabelle to bring the twins back to their new home, the McBride house was descended upon by all the brothers, their wives and hoardes of Glenanne children.

And then later on that second day, when the house had finally returned to tranquillity, Michael had discovered the house had gained some new residents and he now had a job to do.

Seamus had brought with him in way of a house warming present a sleek coated, short haired Belgium shepherd dog. As he had sat on the couch, his hand ruffling the big dog's ears, he had made the introductions.

" _His name's Max and he's a little bit long in tha tooth, but Belle said wit' tha babbies ya shouldnae have a pup, at least not yet. He's a good guard dog. Somebody gets through yar perimeter, jus' point ham at tham."_

And the other new members to the McBride family were dropped into Michael's lap quite literally by Sian. The blond girl had gathered early on that Uncle McBride was not a cat lover and she had decided to remedy his obvious affliction.

" _Sean-boy will be missing his friends," she had announced with a hint of a challenge in her tone as her uncle had winced and struggled to hold onto the two fidgeting kittens. "Ya don't wanta make ham cry, d'ya Uncle Mike? I call 'em Justin an' Ashton."_

" _Great," he had replied from behind clenched teeth as tiny razor like claws dug into his arm. "But don'cha think they'd be better off on tha farm?" He had sent Seamus and Isabelle a desperate look._

" _No," the young girl tersely informed him. "Uncle Shay's puppy dogs dinnae like tham." She had then smiled sweetly and done her utmost to convince him the little monsters would be easily house-trained and besides Sean-boy would be missing his furry friends._

It was only after the married members of the family had departed and Fiona had locked the kittens into the utility room and settled down to feed the twins that Liam Glenanne had suggested Michael take a walk with him around the park.

 _Taking Max with them, the two men had strolled along one of the paths across the wide open field. "I have a problem." Liam began. "Jeannie has been givin' me nuttin' but grief fer tha las' coupla weeks an' now thot tha weddin' is o'er wit, I'm runnin' outta ways ta avoid har."_

The idea of the head of the Glenanne clan and one of the PIRA's most feared interrogators had been hiding from his girlfriend had caused Michael to force down a chuckle, ducking his head down to hide the smirk which he couldn't suppress.

" _I'd like ta help ya, but relationships, dey aren't really me thing. Ask Fi, she'll tell you."_

" _I don' need advice off ya on how ta -" The older man paused and huffed. "One o' Jeannie's friends is in trouble an' she wants me ta sort it all out fer har. But it's not thot simple. Tha friend is a widow an' har old man died owing money ta a loan shark an -"_

" _An' nar thar coming after her?" Michael had finished the older man's sentence. "An' why cannae ya scare off tha loan shark?"_

" _Cuz he donates ta tha Cause, an' as such I cannae touch ham. Only Jeannie won't accept thot." He came to a stop, and stared at the ground. "Fiona has tol' us all how ya war workin' together in Miami, helpin' folk thot needed it. So, I'm askin' ya ta come back wit' me ta Belfast an' talk ta Jeannie's friend. Ya know, mabbe give har some advice or sommit."_

Michael had felt a strong sense of deja vu as his brother in law slapped him on the back.

" _Fram whot I hear, it's a job ya could do wit' yar hands tied behind yar back. An' if ya need Fi ta help, am sure Jeannie will be happy ta come o'er ta watch tha kiddies."_

As he'd walked back up the stairs towards his back door, his new dog and his new in law close on his heels, Michael McBride couldn't help but feel that his life had come full circle in the best way possible. He opened the door to find his beautiful bride looking at him with curiosity.

"Fiona, luv, pack some yogurt an' C-4 along with the twins' bags. War gonna on a roadtrip."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** _This is the fifth part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 9 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 5**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Near Monkstowns, Ireland, 22nd November 2015_

It was a cold, damp November morning. A faint mist hung close to the ground and the sun was nothing more than a faint orange glow, hidden behind thick ominous grey clouds which moved slowly across the sky.

An old Mitsubishi Shogun SUV made its way slowly up a steep winding country lane lined by stone walls and thickets, eventually pulling off in to a large parking lot already filled up with a mixture of all makes and models of similar vehicles. Once the large 4x4 was parked and its engine switched off, a tall muscular-built man dressed for the Irish winter in heavy boots and a long overcoat emerged. Taking a moment to light up a cigarette, he stood leaning against the hood of his vehicle and took in his surroundings through narrowed eyes.

Horses wearing thick heavy rugs which covered them from ears to tails grazed in fields bordering a stony path that led away from the parking lot towards a neatly laid out yard made up of three large barns separated by concrete walkways.

Finishing his cigarette, the man started up the track, walking under the sign which proclaimed he was welcome to the McCrae Equestrian Center and Livery Stables. Following the noise of over-excited children, their parents shouting out repeated warnings to "watch out for the horses," he made his way between two of the barns and then towards where he could hear a woman barking out orders like a regimental sergeant major.

"Shorten your reins, heels down, now squeeze, squeeze him on, Mary... Very good, keep him going."

Coming to a stop, he studied the backs of the parents, who were standing around the outside of large arena where twelve small children on tiny shaggy coated ponies were being led by a variety of young girls around the perimeter of the menage, while the instructor stood in the center giving out praise or advice.

Smiling, he started forward when he recognized the broad shoulders of the man he was looking for. Michael McBride was easy to spot when he was one of only two men watching the riding lesson and McBride was the only one with several women surrounding him, jostling to be the one to lean on the rail next to him.

Pushing his way through the little gathering, Seamus Glenanne managed to come up behind his brother-in-law and slap the tall, dark haired former spy on the back to get the younger man's attention.

"Well, McBride, am here. Nar whot's so bloody important ya cannae meet me in tha pub at a decent hour?"

"And a good day to you too, Seamus," the man known to everybody as Michael McBride answered cheerfully.

"Good day, is it? It's not even ten o' clock on a Sunday morning. I should be in bed wrapped in tha arms o' me lovin' wife. As should ya." Michael's brother-in-law lit up another cigarette, ignoring the glares of the women standing nearby and then used the burning end to point in the direction of the riding lesson taking place. "So, how ar' they doin'?"

"Good, I t'ink." McBride shrugged as he watched his son go from the front of the ride to the back, the five year old valiantly doing his best to master the timing and balance necessary to perform a rising trot. "I have a favor ta ask, but I need ya ta keep it quiet." He gestured for them to move away from the other spectators.

"Daddy! Uncle Shay! D'ya see me?! Did ya see me trot?!" Sean Michael McBride bravely took one hand off the front of his pony's saddle to wave as he shouted out loudly to his parent and uncle.

"Aye, lad!" Seamus called back, again getting looks of disapproval from the other parents. "Hey, little girl!" He waved to Claire Michelle, who was just setting off to ride her circuit, the teenager running alongside of Ms McBride's pony blushing under the gaze of the two men.

"Shay, I -" Michael gestured again for them to move back and away from the small crowd.

"So whot d'ya want thot cannae wait?"

"It's Fi's Christmas present. I want it ta be a surprise, so I need somewhere ta stash it, outta tha way fer a few weeks. An' I also need somewhere ta do bit o' practicing o' me own," came the enigmatic explanation.

"Well, thot's as clear as mud. Again, whot ar' ya up ta? I know tha sorta o' presents me sister likes ta receive. If yer bringin' in some fancy hardware _I_ don' know about-" There was a hint of a threat in the last sentence. As the family's gunrunner, he took offense to the idea that a family member would go elsewhere for their armament needs.

"No, it's nothing like thot." Michael smiled easily, his eyes flickering to where the riding lesson was drawing to an end.

The instructor was calling for the children to line up their ponies in the center of the arena. He only had a few minutes left to make the deal. Taking a deep breath, he announced, "I've bought her a horse. I need somewhere ta stash it. I wanta surprise har."

Seamus choked and coughed. "Ya went out an' bought a horse!? Feck, McBride, d'ya have any idea at all 'bout tha beasts?"

"I've bought _two_ horses and yes, I know a little."

"Two?! Whot are on, Mikey boy?"

"Nothing," The former spy lowered his voice. "I'm not goin' ta tell her about tha second one until Boxing Day. I thought I'd surprise her at the hunt meet. Fi's been complaining thot we don' do enough stuff together any more. I thought this would be -"

"I t'ink if it wa' me, I'd find sommit else ta do together." He winked. "If ya get me meaning."

"Thot's why ya have eight kids, Shay."

For the last two years, twice a week Fiona, Seamus' wife Isabelle and their eldest daughter Maggie had hired horses from the same riding establishment as they were at now and would spend a couple of hours out in the countryside. Then a little over a month ago, the ladies had informed their menfolk that this year they were going to take part in the Boxing Day Hunt and, to make sure there was no arguments, they had already hired horses for the day.

"Ya might be right at thot, McBride," Seamus smirked, but then became serious. "Thot hunt though, it ain't a picnic ride, Mikey boy. They take it deadly serious. Over a hundred hard ridin' folk fram all o'er tha county, and near on thirty hounds marauding all over tha countryside. Ya have ta jump whot ever is in yar path, feckin' big stone walls, gates, an' hedges... Can ya even ride? An' I don' mean thot cowboy stuff, can ya gallop an' jump?"

"I haven't ridden since -" He checked himself. _Brief memories of his time in Afghanistan, hiding out in the mountains flitted through his mind._ "I've not ridden for a while, that's why I want somewhere to practice."

The Glenanne's were his family now, but he had strict rules regarding his previous life. He didn't talk about his past, _ever,_ and though he was as good as employed by Liam Glenanne, he never allowed himself to become involved in the families PIRA activities. The deal he had made with his former MI-6 handler guaranteed his true identity would remain hidden but only as long as he did nothing to attract the attention of the British or Irish Intelligence Services.

"Jayzuz!" Seamus was having trouble keeping a straight face. "I tell ya whot. I have a weapons dump, it's an old barn, I'm not using it at the moment. I'll get some straw dropped thar an' some hay. Thar's a bit o' pasture behind it ya kin use ta practise in."

"Thanks, Shay... Just remember ya cannae tell a soul. I wan' it ta be a surprise..."

The Irishman laughed. "Who tha hell would believe me? Mikey McBride, takin' ta horseback... Let us know when ya want ta bring tha horses over... I jus' hope ya know whot ya getting ya self inta."

"Daddy! Uncle Shay! D'ya see us? Did ya?"

"D'ya see me trotting? I took me hand off tha saddle, Daddy, were ya watchin'?"

The twins ran towards the two men, calling out in loud high pitched voices. Sean, who could have been a clone of Michael except for his Glenanne coloring, wrapped his arms around his uncle's legs in an almost textbook rugby tackle, while Claire, with her delicate bone structure so much like her mother, was swept up into her daddy's arms, her long black hair hanging down her back in pig tails.

"Uncle Shay, can we go ta your house?" Claire asked, her big blue eyes peering out from under the peak of her riding hat. "I wan' ta see tha new puppies."

()()()()()()()

 _Monkstown, 13_ _th_ _December 2015_

"So what d'ya think?" Fiona McBride twirled around so her husband of five years could get a good look at her special Boxing Day outfit. "I picked it up fram tha tailors this morning, while ya war out with tha twins. Do I look tha part?"

She could feel his blue eyes on her, studying her new outfit in great detail. A black velvet riding hat covered her head, the peak shading her eyes. Underneath her long hair had been drawn back, plaited and then covered by a fine mesh hairnet to keep it neatly out of the way. Her new jacket was made of a dark green tweed and was nipped in at the waist, its hem skimming over her hips. Under which he could glimpse a yellow shirt worn with a perfectly tied white silk hunting stock, its neat folds held in place with a gold hunting pin in the design of a galloping fox hound. Her long shapely legs were encased in skin tight breeches and shiny black riding boots which finished just below the knee completing the ensemble.

"It's different," he admitted, from his position lolling back on their bed, his head propped up on a pile of plumped up pillows. "A bit severe."

"I'm goin' out with tha McCrae hunt, Michael. It's very traditional an' it's tha first time Belle and Maggie have had tha nerve ta go. We have ta look tha part."

Ever since the owner, Peter McCrae, had tacked the poster onto the wall in the riding school cafe displaying the hire charges for the Boxing Day meet, the three ladies had been talking about nothing else until finally Fiona convinced them all to put their names down on the list.

"You've only been riding for two years, Fi," he pointed out.

" _This time_... I learnt as a child and I rode quite a few times when I wa' wit' Ar-" She stopped short, remembering that Armand Andreani was dead, assassinated shortly after his arrival in Ireland by the very man who was watching her so appreciatively.

He came off the bed in one swift smooth move, stopping in front of her, his hands going straight to the three brass buttons which held the jacket closed. "Let me help you get changed. Ya don' want ta get yar outfit all mussed up." His long supple fingers soon had the jacket undone and quickly placed on a hanger.

"Michael, tha children-" She was pretty sure she'd read his expression correctly and glanced worriedly towards the bedroom door.

"Thar taking a nap. After thar riding lesson, I hadda job ta do with Seamus, so Isabelle took 'em to tha park fer an hour. They're nae goin' ta disturb us fer a while." As he spoke, he unclipped the foxhound pin and then unwound the stock from around her neck, kissing the soft skin of her throat, as he moved on to undoing the tiny pearl buttons on the pale yellow shirt, placing it on the back of a chair in front of her dressing table.

Turning back to her, he took her hand in his and placed her palm over the growing bulge in his jeans. "I have somethin' ya can ride," he smirked.

She glanced at the door again, listening intently. "Well, I do need all the practice I can get."

She smiled wickedly. Her fingers pulling down the zipper of his jeans and then flicking the button undone. Sliding her hand inside, she again palmed him, this time through through the cotton of his boxers, revelling in the sensation of him becoming hard at the touch of her hand.

Rocking his hips against her hand, he reached up and carefully lifted the riding hat off her head. Then he freed her hair from the net and bands holding it in place, running his fingers through her long red-brown locks until it resembled a tousled mane.

"Thar's me girl." He lowered his head and began to kiss her slowly at first. But when she eased his boxers over his hips and her hand closed about him, he tightened his fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss, leaving them both breathless.

When they finally broke apart, she backed away her fingers undoing her breeches and wriggling the stretchy material down her legs. "Ya going ta help me with me boots, McBride?... Those little monsters won't sleep for forever."

He pulled off her boots, sending the expensive Italian leather footwear across the room and then took hold of the legs of the breeches, pulling them off before sending them roughly in the same direction as the boots. He paused to admire the view as she lay on the bed in just her white lacy bra and knickers.

Leaning forward, he ran his hands appreciatively over her shapely calf muscles and firm silky soft thighs before making his way up to remove her panties.

"I think I like ya better this way," he told her as he removed his jumper, pulling the woolen article over his head to find she had unhooked her bra and tossed it down beside the bed.

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he slowly kissed his way up her body, ankles, knees, inner thighs. Spreading her legs further apart, he watched her expression as he ran one finger between the warm wet folds of her center before slowly pushing into her core.

Fiona's lips parted in a silent moan as a second finger joined the first, brushing over the little bundle of nerves deep inside her. Her breaths coming quicker when she felt his warm breath and the soft lap of his tongue where his fingers had been moments before, fingers which were now rubbing over her breasts, kneading the firm pliant flesh and pinching her nipples.

Her legs began to shake and she writhed under his touch and then she was seeing stars as he sent her over the edge, riding a wave of pleasure. She reached for him frantically drawing him up her body gasping when his mouth closed over one breast, his teeth nipping and then licking her over the sensitive hardened nub.

Wrapping her long legs around his waist with her nails clawing at his back, she urged him on. She needed to feel every inch of him. A long sigh slipping from between her lips as they joined as one, skin against skin. No matter how many times they made love, she never tired of the feel, the weight, the friction that passed between them as they moved together, pushing one another closer to heaven with every stroke. She just couldn't get enough of him ever.

Afterwards she lay with her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Turning onto her side, she stared up at him, noticing the small satisfied smile gracing his lips.

"Whot are ya smiling at?" She placed a kiss on his chest.

"It was sommit Seamus said a coupla weeks ago, about spending lazy Sundays in bed."

"Sundays in bed? Thot has ya grinning like tha cat who got tha canary?"

She gasped as he pulled her on top of him, his mouth laying tiny little butterfly kisses on her neck and up to her ear. "All his kids ar' all older. This little bit o' alone time took a lotta planning. Thar wa' nothin' _lazy_ abou' _this Sunday_."

()()()()()()()()()

 _Glenanne Farm, 17_ _December 2015_

Seamus Glenanne rested his elbows on the wooden gate which marked the entry to a large flat field, watching as his brother-in-law hurtled around the grassy meadow, sitting astride a small bay horse which threw out great clods of mud from under its hooves with each stride. Even to the gun runner's uneducated eye, the horse looked a handful as the American did his best to slow its pace as he circled the pasture for the fifth time. Feeling the presence of another close by, the Irishman looked over his shoulder to find his older brother standing right behind him, watching the action taking place in the field.

"Whot tha hell is he doin'?" Liam Glenanne asked, his expression plainly showing he was having trouble believing what he was seeing.

"He's planning on surprising Fi," Seamus replied blandly.

"Well, he's fecking surprising tha hell outa me. If he breaks his neck, she'll kill ham fer sure."

Both men stopped talking to watch spellbound as the rider gained control over his excited mount and was now directing it towards a stone wall about three feet in height. The horse charged the obstacle with enthusiasm and sailed through the air without incident. Upon landing, its rider was still astride and still in control. Bringing the bay horse to a stop, Michael waved to his brother-in-law and then his hand dropped as he realized Seamus had company.

Making a large circle in the second field at a more sedate pace than his earlier mad charge, Michael jumped the horse back over into the first field and trotted it over to the two waiting men.

"Liam, whot ar' ya doin' here?" Michael kept a tight hold on the reins as the sweated up horse tossed its head up and down and snorted loudly, while it struck out impatiently at the ground, making small sparks come off his steel shod hoof as it dug into the stony ground.

"I had a job fer ya, an' as ya dinnae answer yar mobile, I had ta come an find ya, meself... But seeing as yer plannin' on gettin' yar neck broke, I'll get somebody else ta do tha job."

"I'm nae goin' ta break me neck," Michael stated firmly as he dismounted and Seamus opened the gate to let them out of the field.

"So, c'mon, whot's tha story wit' tha horse?" the head of the Glenanne family asked as they walked towards the barn.

Michael shrugged. "Two horses, this one is mine and I've got its full sister for Fi as a Christmas present."

Liam looked the animal up and down. "Could ya nae just have got har another gun? Sommit shiny, but lethal."

 _()()()()()()()()_

 _Monkstown, 26_ _December 2015 -_ _Boxing Day_

Fiona crept down the long sweeping staircase and into their large farmhouse style kitchen, sneaking up behind her husband as he stood with his back to her, pouring a kettle full of boiling water into a large china teapot. "Hey..." She wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Hey... So are ya excited?" he asked, kissing her cheek.

She nodded biting down on her lower lip nervously. To say she had been surprised when Michael had insisted on taking a half hour detour to drive up to the riding school on Christmas morning instead of going straight to her mother's would have been an understatement.

But when he had led her over to one of the stables and presented her with the elegant looking mare with a rich mahogany-colored coat and long silky black mane and tail she had been stunned speechless.

" _Her name's Cashmere," he had informed her. "She's an eight year old Arabian. She's done a bit o' everythin' and her previous owner says she jumps like a stag."_

" _You bought a horse? How...?" she'd asked as she had run her palm over the animal's soft shiny coat._

He'd leaned in close, his mouth barely an inch off her ear. "If ya remember, I spent six months stuck in the mountains o' Afghanistan. Tha only way ta get about thar wa' on horseback. An' then thar was me time in Egypt." His lips had lightly caressed her ear lobe before drawing away and speaking in a louder voice. "Would ya like ta try har out, sweetheart?"

Today was going to be only the second time she rode the mare and this time she would be part of the hundred strong McCrae hunt on their traditional Boxing Day Meet.

"You'll have fun. I made sure she was a safe ride. High spirited and fiery, but she knows her job, just like someone else I know." He tenderly brushed a few stray strands away from her face and she leaned into his touch.

She still couldn't quite believe what he had done. Purchasing a horse was probably the first time he had gone out on his own initiative bought her something without her having to drop a thousand or more not so subtle hints. Her twice weekly rides out into the countryside with Isabelle and her daughter Maggie had provided a much needed break from motherhood and now she would be able to go out whenever she felt the urge to get away and feel the wind in her hair.

Liam kept Michael busy most days with work in his semi-legitimate business enterprises and on occasion she would join him when he required back up or a woman's touch on the job. But for the most part she had found herself following all the other Glenanne women into keeping house and raising the children.

Smiling as she thought about the thrill she had got from riding the powerful little mare, who accelerated like a sports car and jumped like a gazelle, she walked her fingers down the front of her husband's dressing gown to undo the belt loosely tied about his waist.

"Ya know, I don' think I've thanked ya enough fer such a grand present." His robe hung open and she pushed his T-shirt up to lay kisses over his toned chest and stomach, enjoying the feel of the soft skin covering his muscled abs and his musky male odor.

"Fi..." he moaned as she sank down in front of him, pulling down his pajama pants as she knelt before him.

Staring up at him, she ran her tongue over her lips before touching the tip of her tongue to the head of his rapidly hardening manhood, her smile widening as he pulsed and grew even firmer.

"Fi, ah, Fiona..." His voice little more than a whisper as she slowly took him into her mouth.

She loved the man who stared down at her through half opened eyes. She loved the feel of him and the taste and, as she felt his strong fingers wrap in her hair, she reveled in the feeling of having such a powerful man trembling at her touch.

She could hear his breathing deepening and his fingers tightening their hold as he got close and then as she hummed, vibrating her tongue and lips, he came undone, sagging back against the counter top until she climbed to her feet and held him close as his body shuddered.

"Fi..." He peppered soft kisses over her brow and then, hearing the creak of a door being opened and the rapid pad of bare feet coming down the stairs, they pulled apart.

"Mammy! Mammy, Sean-boy threw Crystal down tha stairs."

"Mammy! Claire punched me."

While Michael hurriedly rearranged his clothes and did up the belt on his dressing gown, Fiona went out into the hall to deal with their offspring. Picking up Claire's Barbie doll off the floor, she hastily reattached the dolls blond head.

"Claire, Crystal is fine." She handed her baby girl her doll and gave her a pat on the cheek. "Nar say sorry ta yar brother fer hitting him."

"But am not sorry," the five year old responded honestly. "Sean-boy wa' mean."

"Sean..." Fiona called, but her golden haired son had spotted his da in the kitchen and run past her, looking for some male support.

"Da, daddy, Claire stole Action Man's tank... Tell har girls don't have tanks."

The adults looked over their children's heads and smiled at each other. "Oh, I think ya'll find in t'is family girls can have as many tanks as they want." Michael ruffled his son's hair before lifting him up. "Nar how about some breakfast? Ya want some eggy soldiers?"

()()()()()()()()

 _Newtown Village, 26_ _December 2015_

Seventeen horses of all shapes and sizes, with their riders dressed up in their finest riding attire travelled in a tightly packed group along the narrow winding lane from the McCrae Equestrian Center down the hill towards the small village of Newton. Near the front of the group, Fiona McBride kept a firm grip on the reins of her Christmas present. The dainty bay mare Michael had given her as a Yuletide gift pranced and danced alongside its mostly larger and heavier companions.

With Michael and the twins watching from behind the fence, she had ridden Cashmere for the first time in the riding school arena. Marveling at the little mares turn of speed and light handling, it had reminded her of what it used to be like to be behind the wheel of a highly tuned performance car, as the lightest touch of the rein or squeeze of her leg directed the horse to where she wanted to go and how fast she wanted to get there.

"Just keep a light hold o' her, Fiona," said Peter McCrae as he rode up alongside of one his favorite clients, his large Irish Hunter towering over the light boned mare. "I took tha liberty o' contacting tha previous owner, ya know, just ta be on tha safe side. They confirmed whot yar husband said. Thot tha mare was hunted all over Donegal las' season by a teenager, an' never put a foot wrong. Ya jus' have ta relax an' wait fer her ta settle. This little ride will take the bounce outta her step."

Fiona nodded, and tried to push away the mild feeling of nausea, which wasn't being helped by the jogging horse. The closer they got to the village of Newton, where the meet and parade was due to take place, the more horses and riders joined their group. The noise of so many steel shod hooves clattering on the hard tarmac roads was nearly deafening and the smell of clean leather and horse sweat filled the air. Seamus' wife Isabelle rode up alongside her sister-in-law, her green eyes shining with excitement as her more steady mount easily kept pace with the still prancing mare.

"I cannae believe we haven't done this before. I hope ya gave thot husband yars a proper thank ya," the dark haired Mrs. Glenanne winked.

"She's a beautiful horse, Aunty Fi," Maggie Glenanne came up on the other side of her aunt and then as the road widened her eyes went large. "Oh, look war here." She pointed to the village green and car park already filled with early arrivals from elegant thoroughbreds to thick set cobs and small shaggy ponies on lead reins.

"Can ya see Michael, and tha twins?" Fiona stood up in her stirrups to get a better look at the crowd of spectators lining the edges of the group.

"Thars, Shay." Isabelle waved to attract her husband's attention... "Maggie! Thar's ya Da' an' oh, an' ya grandma."

By the time they had ridden through the milling mass of people and horses to reach their kinfolk, Fiona was dismayed to see everybody there except for Michael.

"Mammy, can I stroke 'ashmere?" Claire tried to pull away from her other aunt, Rosanna, who held on tightly to the five year old's hand to stop her from running under the horse's legs.

"Not now, darling. Cashmere is very excited at the moment," Fiona replied. "Where's Michael? Why isn't -"

"He's comin' nar." The elderly Matriarch of the family nodded with a slight look of disapproval on her face.

As Maeve Glenanne spoke, Cashmere whinnied so loudly it caused the little mare's whole body to shudder. Fiona looked about, wondering what was the cause of her mount's sudden agitation. Suddenly, the bay spun around in a half circle, turning her around.

"Oh!" Fiona was too shocked to utter another word, as she stared open mouthed at the figure riding towards her. Michael was dressed in full hunting attire, sitting astride a horse almost identical to her own.

Slightly taller and broader, her husband's mount was cavorting as if the ground was too hot for it's hooves and the whole time the tall dark haired former spy sat calmly in the saddle, looking as if he and the magnificent animal underneath him were one. Other riders tried to move out of his way, tutting at the display of over exuberance as he manoeuvred the Arab gelding over to his wife's side.

"Surprise..." He grinned at her, as his horse finally came to a standstill now that it was nose to nose with it's older sister.

Fiona couldn't take her eyes off the dashing figure of her husband on horseback. _Was there no end to what the man could do? Or was he just plain crazy._

"I wanted ta surprise ya. I thought with tha twins at school now, this would be sommit we could do together. Er, you know... go out riding?"

The peaked riding hat hid most of his hair, his dark tweed jacket fitting him perfectly, showing off the width of his shoulders and his trim waist and hips. But mostly her eyes kept getting drawn to the muscles of his thighs beautifully showcased by the skin hugging white cotton and lycra of his riding breeches.

"Fi?" He was becoming concerned by her lack of a reply.

"Wha' ar' ya doing?" she finally asked. "Have ya lost yar mind?"

"Yer tha one who said we should be doin' more stuff together. I thought ridin' wa' sommit we could do...though not necessarily this." He looked around. For all Seamus warnings, he had thought his brother-in-law had been exaggerating when he'd said there would be close to a hundred people taking part in the hunt.

Before she could say anything more on the subject, a loud hunting horn sounded and the hunt followers parted to make way for the Master of the Hunt and the pack of hounds. Within minutes, they were forming up to parade through the village moving at a sedate trot, the pavements were lined with spectators waving and the noise of the hooves on the tarmac sounding like thunder.

Michael's mount was prancing sideways as he kept it along his wife's mare, which now she had her companion at her side had settled down a lot. As soon as they left the village behind and were back out on to the winding country lanes, the horses began to spread out. Fiona looked about, managing to catch a glimpse of Isabelle and Maggie a little way behind, their heavier built riding school horses keeping to a more sedate pace than the two Arabians.

Eventually, they left the road and entered an open field with a small copse of trees in the middle. While all the followers were directed to form up a loose circle around the tree line, the Hunt Master and his staff sent the hounds in amongst the trees in search of their quarry. While they waited in near silence, except for the noise of the horses snorting and the foxhounds at work in the small forest.

A sudden series of blasts on the huntsman horn and the hounds suddenly broke out into the open. As they ran their loud yodelling howls and barks alerted everybody to the discovery of their prey. At the cacophony of noise, Michael's horse launched itself into the air and, for a moment, Fiona was sure her husband was about to be sent airborne and then crashing to the ground. But by sheer luck and excellent balance, or maybe just by strong leg muscles, he managed to stay astride and then they were off pulled along in the charge of nearly hundred galloping horses.

Fiona stood up a little in her stirrups and leaned forwards, her mare's long black mane whipping back at her, the feeling of power and speed bringing a big grin to her face. Risking a glance to her side, she saw the same look on her husband's face as his own horse matched hers stride for stride.

Ahead they saw the hounds push through a thicket hedge, followed by the front runners jumping the five foot high obstacle in their path. The McBride's exchanged looks, their eyes locking for just a second before they turned all their attention to the hedge which was looming closer and closer.

Fiona felt Cashmere begin to slow, her powerful muscles bunching underneath her and then they were soaring through the air and it was as if she was flying. The mare touched down and without a pause continued onwards with Michael still at her side, his blue eyes fixed on the other end of the field and the big open ditch in front of another hedge which had already claimed a few victims.

"There's another way." His words were whipped away in the wind, but she saw where he pointed. At the far end of the field, a man held a gate open for those who didn't want to risk the ditch.

"But this way's more fun," she called back as she increased her mount's speed and concentrated on choosing the best spot for the mare to make the leap.

This second jump was bigger and wider and, on the landing side, the ground gave away steeply. But the Arabian barely slowed at all. Galloping onwards, it was all Fiona could do to stay on and steer as the bruising pace set by the racing foxhounds never slowed. The whole time she was aware of Michael sticking with her, his horse's head close to her shoulder, it's snorting breath sounding loud in her ear.

The hounds ran on for what felt like miles and miles, over hedgerows, stone walls and once across a wide stream knee deep with icy water and then their quarry entered a thick forest filled with pine trees and the hounds suddenly seemed to lose the scent. Everybody was back to a walk and, as she looked around, Fiona noticed the number of hunt followers seemed to have thinned considerably.

"Fiona! Mike!" Isabelle and Maggie trotted over. "How're ya doin? I watched ya both take thot ditch... I almost had ta close me eyes at tha sight." Isabelle called out excitedly. her face flushed from the hair raising gallop.

"We went through tha gate." Maggie informed them as she wiped at the mud, which was splattered all over her once pristine breeches.

"Oh, it twas nothing." Fiona made light of the size and difficulty of the jump, while patting the sweat covered neck of her mare.

"Nuttin' she says," Isabelle snorted. "Tha pair o' ya ar' crazy, ya know thot?"

Seconds later, the hounds set off again and their excited cries were joined by the sound of the hunting horns. The riding now was harder as they had to find their way through the trees. Weaving in and out of the trunks and between all the undergrowth, it wasn't long before they lost sight of Isabelle and Maggie again, the two lighter built and agile Arabians moving faster than the horses the mother and daughter rode.

"Fi, where are ya goin'?" Michael called as his wife turned her mount off the narrow trail they were following.

"There's a way through here. It'll be quicker. We'll catch up with the leaders if we go this way," she answered her voice a little breathless with the thrill of the chase still flowing through her veins.

"Fiona, if we - Dammit, listen."

She knew what she was doing. It was an easy slope with just an old rotten log at the bottom that Cashmere could easily jump. She was half way down, deaf to Michael's admonishments, when the mare lost her footing and, instead of walking sedately downwards, she was now sliding sideways and it was only with a twist and a huge buck that the bay Arabian got over the log at the bottom of the slope and stayed upright.

However, the mare's violent actions caused Fiona to lose her stirrups and then lose her balance, as she came off, landing heavily on her back amongst the scattered leaf litter.

"Fi! Fiona!"

She sat up, gasping for air. The fall had knocked the wind out of her and left her feeling more than a little foolish.

"Are ya okay?...Fiona, are ya hurt?"

"I'm fine," she answered as her breath came back. Squinting up into the worried eyes of her husband, she realized she must have passed out for just a second or two, as both horses were tied to a nearby branch and he had removed his jacket to place it under her head.

"I'm fine, Michael." She batted his hands away as his nimble fingers undid the buttons on her jacket to give him access to check for injuries.

"It wa' a nasty fall, let me make sure."

"Honestly, Michael. I just had tha air knocked outta me. Help me up." She struggled to her feet, swaying a little and in truth grateful for his hand on her arm.

He reached out, his thumb wiping at the mud smearing her cheek. "I don't think yer up ta riding any more today."

"I said, I'm fine."

"No, yer not," he stated firmly.

"It wa' one little fall, Michael," she snapped back, pushing him away.

She knew she was overreacting to his display of concern. But today was probably going to be the last time she got to have fun like this for a long time and she wanted to make the most of it.

"Fi?" He gave her that soft stare which said: _"you know I'm right."_

"It was one tiny fall onta tha soft ground, am pregn - nae made o' glass." She tried to bite back her words, but it was too late. They spilled out as her irritation grew.

"Pregnant?" His voice sounded flat.

 _Was he angry?_ "I found out on Christmas Eve. I was going to tell you later - tomorrow, I thought you'd try to stop me riding today if you knew."

"Pregnant?" He stared back at her his expression, unreadable and distant.

"I know, it's a shock. But I wa' goin' ta tell ya tomorrow. " She wanted to reach out to him, promise him everything was going to be all right.

"Pregnant?" he asked again, a look of wonder slowly spreading across his face, the smile which grew made the corner of his eyes crease and, before she knew it, he had wrapped his arms about her in a strong embrace. "You should have told me." He tried to kiss her but instead got the top of her velvet riding hat.

"Ya don' mind?" She pressed the flat of her hands against his chest, so she could look up at him as he pulled his own peaked helmet off and then hers, letting them fall onto the soft ground.

"Mind?"

"If ya recall, ya fainted when ya found out abou' tha twins."

"I'd been kidnapped and beaten up by yar brothers, Fi." He tried to justify his reaction when he had been presented with his offspring. "This is -" He kissed her and then kissed her again, his fingers entwining in her once neatly groomed hair.

 _He was happy!_ Her heart soared with both love for the man who was kissing her so passionately and raw sexual desire. Because all of a sudden, kissing wasn't enough, she wanted more and she wasn't prepared to wait until they were back home.

She hooked her foot around his ankle and then pushed him backwards with all her strength, taking him down to the ground in one swift move, which ended up with her sat astride his hips.

"F–!"

She stole away his words with a hot demanding kiss of her own, preparing herself to fight for what she wanted. It felt like it had been years since they had had any truly spontaneous sex and thoughts of the way her husband's long legs had wrapped around the bay gelding, the thrust of his hips at each galloping stride and the softness of his hands as he had skilfully controlled the spirited animal filled her head until she could think of nothing else...

Her fingers curved like talons, raking through his short dark hair as she continued to lay claim to his mouth and then it was her turn to gasp as she was flipped onto her back and without warning the buttons of her shirt were sent flying off into the undergrowth.

Her skin flushed and her back arched up as he trailed kisses from her lips to the soft lace of her bra, nipping at the swell of her breast through the thin material. It was so long since they had loved like this, surrendering all logical thought and tactical awareness to red hot passion and pure unadulterated desire. Moments later, his own shirt was ripped open along one of the side seams to satisfy her need to feel the hard muscles of his torso and chest under the palm of her hands.

It wasn't long before the remains of their clothing was being pushed aside as touching was no longer enough and when he sank into her, her mind almost instantly whited out in a sea of euphoria. The coupling was fast, hard and powerful as their bodies moved as one on a mission of mutual ecstasy. Such intensity could not last long and they soon ended up clinging to each other as the tremors of post coital bliss took over.

Gently withdrawing from her, Michael pulled his wife into his arms. Brushing her tangled hair away from her face, he traced a line about her kiss bruised lips before laying a feather light kiss on her forehead.

"So, a baby... Just one?"

"It's ta early ta tell." She cupped his cheek, her own smile widening as he leaned into her touch. "But I think we have a more immediate problem." She let her eyes linger on his torn shirt, as she trailed a finger down his breast bone. "Whot do we say when they ask whar we've been?"

()()()()()()

It was only three PM, but the light was already fading when the McBrides arrived back at the McCrae Equestrian Center. With their jackets buttoned up hiding the ruined shirts, they explained away the mud stained outer clothes as the result of them both taking separate falls.

Ignoring the knowing smile on the face of Peter McCrae, they left their horses to the expert care of his staff, Michael having already made arrangements for his horse to have the stable next to Fiona's mare.

Climbing into Fiona's Range Rover, Michael took the wheel and with his auburn haired wife's hand resting lightly on his thigh as they drove back to Monkstown and their home in a quiet square close to the sea. As they wound their way down the hill towards the city, they quietly spoke about the new life which would be joining them in seven months time. This time there was no fear, no powerful enemies hiding in the shadows waiting to destroy their lives.

It had been so different when he had journeyed across the sea with one thing in mind: to beg and plead with Fiona Glenanne to come back into his life. But he had been given so much more than he had ever expected or imagined. The life that he had idly dreamed as a spy pretending to be an Irishman had become reality and Michael Westen had been left behind.

And now, staring out of the SUVs windshield at the road ahead, Michael McBride felt the warm glow which came only to the truly content.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _This is the sixth part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 16 in "Reconnecting."_

 _It has been seven years since Michael Westen left Miami to chase down his missing lover, following her back to her homeland, and two years since Michael McBride discovered he was to become a father again. Now an old enemy is coming to Dublin and Michael must find a way to protect all those he loves_

 _()()()()()()_

 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 6**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Dublin, October 2017_

Fiona McBride, wife to Michael and mother to three beautiful children, was sitting behind the wheel of the bright red Hyundai Genesis sports coupé, which her husband had presented to her on her last birthday. She raced through the near empty roads on her way from her home in the picturesque village of Monkstown towards the garment district in the heart of Dublin and a very special meeting.

Entering the city center, she followed the directions she had been given by her client until she reached Parnell Street and the six story block of luxury flats where she had been reliably informed she would find Mr. Ellis Caron, who according to his web page was a rising star in Ireland's fashion industry.

Parking her ride on a narrow side street, Fiona reached over into the back seat to collect the particular tool she had selected to help complete the job before sliding out of the high performance vehicle and smoothing down her immaculate designer outfit. Strutting along the pavement until she reached the entrance to the underground parking facilities for the high-end apartment building, she easily slipped under the unmanned barrier and began her search for Mr. Caron's gun metal grey Porsche 911.

 _If you had to choose an ideal environment for a guerrilla war, it would probably look a lot like an urban parking structure. It's an easy place to create a distraction and draw out opposing forces. A parking garage is also a great place to control visibility and give yourself an advantage and, once you do that, you can find cover and stage an effective ambush._

Having found the correct sports car amongst all the other high-end vehicles belonging to the residents of the apartment block, Fiona checked her watch and was pleased to see it wasn't quite six o clock in the morning. Providing her intel was correct, Ellis Caron would be leaving for a fashion shoot in the next ten minutes. So she had more than enough time to choose the best spot for her ambush. In fact, if she dealt with this little problem swiftly, she would make it home in time to join her family for breakfast before the twins went to school.

Hearing the hollow sound of footsteps coming closer, the petite Irishwoman tightened her grip on the graphite shaft of her titanium alloy head Ping Golf Anser driver.

 _When a pro plans an ambush, they capitalize on the element of surprise. They attack aggressively so their opponent has to react from a place of weakness._

As soon as her intended target reached out pressing on his key fob to unlock the doors of his car, Fiona stepped from her hiding place and, using all of her considerable strength, swung the golf club hitting the clothes designer in the middle of his back and dropping him to the ground.

"Arghhhhhhh! Hey! Who?" The short chubby man scrabbled away from his attacker while clutching at his back.

"Mr. Caron, you are Ellis Caron, are you not?" For this meeting, she hid her true accent behind a refined English one.

"Ow, who ar' ya? D'ya want me car? Har, take tha keys!" He held out the fob in a shaking hand. "Take whotever ya want. I have money."

"I don't want your car or your money, Ellis. Can I call you Ellis? I just want a few minutes of your time."

With no more blows raining down upon him, the designer began to calm down and, while trying to catch his breath, he stared up at his attacker who was not at all what he expected a car jacker to look like.

"Who ar' ya?" he asked.

"My name doesn't matter; what does matter is your actions two days ago." From the man's puzzled expression, the feisty redhead could tell he had no idea what she was talking about. She delivered a sharp kick using the toe of her black four inch heeled Louboutin pump to the designer's leg, causing him to yelp and shuffle further away.

"Two days ago, in the back room of your shop." Fiona raised the club as if to strike him again, but lowered it when she saw him pale and his eyes widen. "So now you know... You were a _very_ naughty boy, Ellis."

 _Every class of criminal has their own set of fears. Usually the bogeyman lives in the mirror. Thieves triple-lock their doors, embezzlers check their bank accounts obsessively, and rich powerful men who like to prey on young impressible girls dread the day they meet a determined and very angry woman armed with a golf club_.

"Thot, thot wa' jus' an audition. She wa' in me office on a – on a go see." He held up a hand in an attempt to keep the she-devil from coming any closer. "I cannae help it if a -"

"An audition? Like a job interview? You call asking a young girl to strip off in front of you a job interview? And what do you call it when you rip the back of her dress and threaten to destroy her career unless she performs _certain_ acts on you?"

"Look, I donnae know whot thot little tramp -"

"That _tramp_ , as you call her, is a very special client of mine." Fiona took a swing with the club, catching the man high up on his arm. "She is a sweet girl who only wants to earn a good wage as a model."

Another blow to the same place had Ellis Caron howling in pain. "And what you asked her to do... You should count yourself lucky I've only brought along a golf club… _this time_."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Oh, you _will be_ , Ellis." She leaned down, gripped designer's ear lobe between a thumb and forefinger and twisted sharply, jerking the man up to his feet before slamming him into the side of his car. "Now here is how things are going to go... As much as I disagree with her decision, Ms. Regan would still like to appear on the catwalk modelling your spring line. _However_ as her management team's representative, I require some guarantees before she signs a contract."

"Ya want me ta employ har? Ar' ya outta yar mind?"

The golf club came down on the roof of the Porsche, right next to his shoulder as Fiona barred her teeth in a bloodthirsty smile. "Quite possibly. Now, these are the guarantees: Ms. Regan will be paid the going rate for the assignment and _you_ will keep your hands well away from her and finally, Ellis, you will _not_ breathe a word about our little chat to _anybody._ "

"I -"

"I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Ellis, and believe me when I say you don't want to get on _my_ bad side." She waited with her blue-green eyes boring into his dark brown moisture filled orbs. Finally with a nod of her head and a flick of her wrist, she swung the golf club up to rest on her shoulder and turned away. "Well ta-ta, _for now_... But I _will be_ watching, so be a good boy."

Strolling away, the former paramilitary operative kept her back straight and her pace steady. Ellis Caron was a weasel of a man, a coward who got his kicks abusing young girls eager to make it as models. Unfortunately for him, he had picked on the wrong girl when he had turned his attentions on Kerry Regan, or rather Sian Glenanne as she was known to her family.

Her brother Sean's blonde haired oldest girl had been approached by a modelling scout three years earlier and, after a year of constantly badgering her father and her Uncle Liam, the teenager had eventually talked the two men into accepting her career choice but with certain conditions attached: Firstly that her Aunty Fiona, as the only one in the family who had the slightest clue about the workings of the fashion industry, would watch over her career and secondly she was to use a legend, as her Uncle McBride called it, a fake identity tailor-made for her by her Uncle Colin to reduce the risk of exposing her and her family's link to the republican cause.

At the time, Fiona had been pregnant with hers and Michael's third child. But that hadn't stopped the flame haired former gun runner/bank robber and explosive expert jumping at the chance to help her niece. Finding the right photographer to produce the girl's portfolio and then taking her to visit all the agencies in Dublin and Belfast had taken up a lot of her free time, in between taking care of the twins and helping out Michael when he needed some back up; however, it had given her back her independence and no amount of tiredness had stopped her completing her task.

By the time the youngest McBride entered the world, Kerry Regan had begun her fledgling model career and Fiona's role up until the unfortunate incident with Ellis Caron had been reduced to administration.

Reaching the Hyundai, Fiona tossed her weapon of choice onto the backseat and slipped in behind the wheel. With a tiny flick of her wrist, the engine roared to life and she set off for her home. With a bit of luck the children would still be in bed and Michael would eagerly awaiting her return.

Pushing her Louboutin-shod right foot down on the accelerator, she leaned back in her seat. Mrs. McBride loved her children and her new life. But right now, the ex-guerilla was flooded with memories of her youth, of street battles and bombs and an over-abundance of adrenaline and she knew just the man to help her burn off some of that energy.

 **()()()()()**

Michael McBride had been awake ever since his lovely wife had crawled out of their bed at five o'clock in the morning. He had feigned sleep while his auburn haired goddess had been in the en-suite bathroom and continued to watch through hooded eyes when she came out and got dressed in the clothes she had laid out the night before. He wasn't happy letting her go off alone, but then again there was never a good time in his opinion for his Irish sweetheart to be off facing danger without back up.

"Michael, we cannae keep havin' this same conversation. How many times d'ya go off on yar own, leavin' me ta sit at home wit' tha babbies? Ya used ta trust me ta look after me self... Ellis Caron is a weasel o' a man, but he's a fashion designer fer chris'sakes, nae some criminal mastermind!"

It was a different version of the same argument they had had every time she had a job to do which put her into danger, and over the years it hadn't gotten any easier. So instead of risking a continuation of their previous nights discussion, he had kept his mouth and eyes closed and let her go.

Once he heard the garage doors opening and closing, McBride swung his legs out from under the covers. He had approximately two hours to kill before the twins needed to be called for breakfast and, if he was incredibly lucky, their fourteen month old baby girl would sleep through until then too. Getting to his feet, the dark haired man went and took a quick shower and then slipped into a pair of jeans before checking on each of the children on his way downstairs.

"Hey Max…" Michael leaned down to ruffle their family pet/guard dog's sleek coat. "Come on then, let's feed ya. Whar ar' yar pals?" His speech had long ago settled into the pattern of his adopted homeland.

Soft meowing coming from the kitchen told the head of the house exactly where the other four legged members of his family were hanging out. "I mighta guessed."

He sighed as he pushed open the door and stepped into kitchen. "Ash, Justin..." He smiled down at the two mousers, who were now rubbing up against his legs, the meowing turned to deep purrs as they watched him pick up their bowls from the floor and line them up on the counter.

From being a confirmed bachelor and no great lover of animals, Michael had changed beyond all recognition with three children and a houseful of pets, plus four horses costing him an arm and a leg in livery fees at the McCrae Equestrian Center. The two Arabians he had bought two years ago had now been joined by two part-bred Arabian ponies. Although Sean-Michael was losing interest in his mount since he had made it on to his school's soccer team, Claire Michelle would if she was allowed spend every free minute at the stables when she didn't have a hockey stick in her hand.

With the house pets eating, Michael made himself a cup of coffee and took a yogurt from the fridge before settling down at the table with yesterdays newspaper. Skimming over the articles on the front page, the former covert operative tried to keep his mind occupied. But he couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting to what might be happening in Dublin's garment district.

" _Donnae get yar knickers in a twist, McBride, Fiona is a big girl. We need someone who can keep an eye on Sian an' how much trouble can yar wife get inta wit' a bunch o' dressmakers?"_ had been Liam's reply when he had broached the subject of his wife and soon to be mother of three becoming head of Sian's personal security.

It wasn't that he thought Fiona wouldn't be able to handle one short, overweight and out of condition fashion designer. What had him worried was, in the typical Glenanne way of doing things, neither Sian or for that matter Fiona could say for sure that Caron would be alone this morning.

With an annoyed huff, her husband pushed away the newspaper and reached for his cell phone and then tossed it back down in disgust after he read the clock display. He had left it too late to call to remind her to take a little extra time to scout the location. If he rang now, all he would be was a distraction.

Running his fingers through his raven hair, the ex-spy turned family man looked around the kitchen. Max had disappeared through the large flap in the kitchen door and out into the concrete patio at the side of the house especially designed for his use and the two cats were curled back up in their bed next to the radiator. _Was he the only one who was concerned that the mistress of the house was off intimidating a lowlife piece of scum?_

The thought made him chuckle as he realized the ridiculousness of his fears. _How many times in the past had the petite redhead pulled his ass of the fire?_ Just because this was the first time she had worked solo for a long time didn't mean she had lost any of her skills.

"I need ta find me sommit ta do," Michael muttered to himself.

Usually when he was feeling stressed, he would head out of the door and go for a run. But with three children in the house who were far too young to left alone, the one-time operative had to think of some other way of getting his mind off what was happening ten miles away in an urban parking garage.

Picking up the baby monitor sitting on the counter top, Michael made his way over to the small room off the lounge that they had designated their office. It was off limits to the children and kept locked when the little ones were at home. It contained two gun safes, one which held their legally owned weapons and a second hidden safe where they kept a few of their illegally purchased toys. It was also the place where Michael worked on any little side jobs which were brought to him by the family.

As well as working for the Liam, helping to run the head of the family's legitimate businesses, the former spy also had returned to taking jobs helping out local people who had nowhere else to turn. Leaving the baby monitor on his desk, Michael went over to the tall filing cabinet in the corner and took a file out of the top drawer.

Seamus, the second eldest of the brothers, had asked him to take a look at a problem for him. A group of fishermen working out of Howth Harbor had run into money troubles after the storms of 2014 had left the fishing fleet in ruins. Many of them had taken advantage of an offer of low interest rate loans by a finance company based in London. But now the company was calling in all their loans, demanding full payment of the remaining balance and the small print of the contracts gave the company the right to seize the vessels if the debts weren't settled in sixty days.

So far every time he had read through, McBride had been unable to come up with any way to help. As far as he could see, the contracts were legally binding; however, Seamus refused to accept that his brother in law, the former super spook, couldn't find a solution.

 _"I wa' a spy, Shay, nae a money launderer." That had drawn a smirk from his wife. "Yar friends need good solid financial advice. Can't they take out another loan ta pay this one off?"_

 _"Most o' tham ar' already drownin' in debt. Can ya nae do sommit, like ya did wit' thot slum landlord? Ya got ham ta back off."_

So he had promised to take one more look, though he held out little hope of finding anything new.

Settling down in a chair, he pulled out a note pad and pen and began to painstakingly go over the document yet again, not looking up until he heard the roar of a powerful car engine and the tell-tale noise of the underground garage door opening.

 **()()()()()**

Having climbed out of her red Hyundai, Mrs. McBride straightened up and, after pushing a tiny piece of peach colored lace into her jacket pocket, she smoothed her hands down over her fitted skirt. The redhead strode rapidly across the underground garage to the stairs which would take her up the hallway in the house above.

Reaching the door at the top of the stairs, Fiona paused just long enough to free her carefully coiffured mane of all the clips which were holding it in place, giving her head a vigorous shake so her long auburn locks fell loosely about her shoulders and half way down her back. A quick glance at the clock told the lithe woman that she had made it back in time. With a bit of luck, it would be just enough time.

As soon as she opened the door to the house, she was greeted by Max, who sat silently wagging his tail.

"Shhh, good boy, now go ta bed." Fiona ruffled the canine's ears and waited for the family pet to cross back into the kitchen and flop down on the enormous dog bed in the corner of the room by the door.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the former paramilitary put her deadly skills to work. Removing her jacket, which she hung the oak banister, and slipping out of the pumps she had put to good use on perverted designer's slimy hide, his wife walked on her top toes, silently crossed to their office. She had already spotted the half open door and guessed Michael was keeping himself occupied with paper work until her return.

"It's good ta know I can still sneak up on ya." Fiona leaned casually against the door frame, her eyes drinking in the sight of her husband, lover and father of her children. He was pretending to study a document, though she knew better. The guilty start as he dropped the papers was overdone.

Looking up, he smiled back. No need to tell her he'd heard the garage doors open and close or that he had been well aware of her footsteps in the hallway. Putting down the document he had been pretending to read for the last few minutes, he watched warily as she sauntered slowly in his direction. From the light in her eyes right down to the alluring sway of her hips, his Irish lass was making her intentions quite clear.

"So how did it go?" he inquired, swallowing thickly his eyes dropping from her face to linger on her slender fingers, which were slowly unbuttoning the front of her pale blue silk blouse.

"I dinnae shoot tha weasel if thot's what yer wondering," she replied with a seductive smile, beginning to saunter across the room. "But ya can be sure Ellis Caron has been suitably chastised." She saw him nod, but those blue orbs were locked on her now exposed toned abs and lacy peach colored bra. "Though ya might need ta replace yar PGA driver... Thot fancy new one wit' tha graphite shaft, it took a wee bit o' a pounding."

"You took me new driver?" he asked in a flat tone, his mouth forming a glorious pout which she moved in to kiss, sucking on his bottom lip as soon as she reached his side.

"I needed sommit ta capture his attention," she whispered in his ear. "So it wa' yar driver or Claire's hockey stick an' I dinnae have time ta replace her stick before she'd be needin' it." With her hands on either side of his office chair, it was easy for her to spin him away from the desk. "Besides, I have always thought ya get a better result wit' a golf club, greater force to a concentrated area." Leaning forward, she trailed hundreds of soft butterfly kisses over his chin and neck.

"Er, Fi – Fi -ona." he stuttered as he succumbed to her touch, tilting his head to the side to give her better access to his throat, his pique over his prized golf club quickly evaporating. "The kids will be -"

"Thar nae awake yet. Besides I have a surprise fer ya." With a smirk, she took a step back unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor to reveal her lack of underwear. "I knew we dinnae have long, so I thought I'd save ya some time."

Ever since she had taken that first swing with Michael's treasured new golf club, she'd been looking forward to this moment. The adrenaline that had flowed through her veins as she'd taught the sleazy clothes designer a lesson still needed a release and she loved nothing more than a little stress relief with the former spy. It reminded of her the old days when they had raised hell in Belfast, Miami and all places in between.

"I hope ya have been as thoughtful," she smirked as she careful unzipped the denim and then grinned. "Well, whot d'ya know? Thank ya, Michael."

She was beautiful and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the semi-naked siren as she knelt before him, her hands stroking up along his thighs until they reached the waistband of his jeans. He couldn't stop the groan that slipped from between his lips or the way his fingers threaded through her tousled hair, tangling in her wild auburn tresses as her tongue swirled around the tip of his rapidly hardening length.

"Fi-Fiona, w-we donnae have a lotta-"

"I know. We'll have ta be quick."

With her tongue and mouth driving him wild and spurred on by the knowledge that at any moment the twins could come running down the stairs in search of a parent, Michael eased his wife up on her feet, taking her into his arms as he rose up himself.

There was a flutter of paper and a thud as the folder he had been studying ended up on the floor, making space for his lover. In one swift move, he had lifted her easily and dropped her down onto the desk top, all the while his mouth stole away her breath in a bruising kiss.

"I like a man who knows how ta get tha job done," Fiona said, panting as he released her.

"Almost perfect," he sighed, pushing her body flat onto the desktop with his left hand. She gave him a questioning stare as McBride reached to his right, grabbing the letter opener from the corner and swiftly albeit carefully cutting away the little fabric bow that held the lacy bra together in the front.

"Michael!" she squeaked indignantly. "D'ya know whot thot thing cost?"

"Nae as much as thot driver," the dark haired man countered, his large paws pushing away the ruined peach material and covering her breasts. "Thot's better…" he informed her with a satisfied smirk as Fiona bit her lip to hold back her moan as he teased her hard nipples with his thumbs.

The redhead supported herself on her elbows, her toned legs wrapped about her husband's waist drawing him closer to where she wanted him. "We dinnae have long befer thar awake, ya know."

Her lover stared down, watching as he slipped into the warm folds of the beautiful woman before him. For all his earlier half-hearted protests, this was where he had wanted to be ever since he had woken up to catch her preparing to leave.

Taking a firm hold of her hips, Michael began to move, thrusting in time with his pull on her lithe frame, coming together with a sweet friction that had them both soaring into towards blissful release. They locked eyes briefly, lust and love shining there, before turning their attention to where their pelvic bones came together as their bodies met in a dance of ecstasy.

Fiona fell over the edge first, shuddering and sighing, her head flung back and her mouth open. Moments later, her lover joined her, almost collapsing onto the petite woman beneath him as his muscles shook and his mind went blank. When he came back to him, he pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly, never wanting to let her go, but knowing their time left was fleeting.

As if on cue there came the soft babbling of their youngest through the baby monitor followed a second later by the banging of doors and the thud of feet on the landing above.

"Mammy! Daddy! Are ya up ? Finn wants har breakfast," Claire Michelle McBride called out from the upstairs of their enormous house.

Michael rested his forehead against Fiona's, breathing deeply. "We both knew it couldn't last."

"Mammy! Daddy! It's time ta get up." Sean-Michael joined in yelling even louder than his sister.

"I'll run interference while ya take a shower," he offered as he straightened up, pulling his jeans back into place as the contented sounds of Miss Fionulla Madeline McBride's playing in her cot turned to the impatient cries of a toddler wanting some attention.

"How about I get tha twins sat down with their cereal while ya go an' get Finn?"

"Tis a deal…" Pressing a kiss to his wife's forehead, Michael left the office, closing the door behind him to give Fiona the privacy she needed to recover her clothing.

Reaching the stairs, he took them two at a time. "Claire, Sean-boy, get yarselves down stairs! Yar mam is waitin' fer ya."

"Daddy," his daughter launched herself at him, wrapping her arms about his waist in a tight hug. "Ar' ya takin' us ta school today? Mammy said ya would."

"Sure, sweetheart." He ruffled her long dark hair and then cupped her cheeks so he could place a kiss to her forehead.

"An' will ya help us wit' our costumes?" His child smiled sweetly up at him.

"Costumes? Fer Halloween? I thought yar mother would be -"

"I wanta be Wednesday Adams, but Sean-boy said I have ta be a ghost -"

"Ya could jus' use yar bed sheet an' hide yar face." Claire's twin came running out of his bedroom, pulling his sister's hair in passing.

"Ya can be whoever ya wanta be," Michael told his daughter, while at the same time trying to keep tabs on the blur that was his son as the young boy sprinted down the stairs. "Sean, don't –"

But the boy was gone, so with a huff he turned back to the little girl. "We'll talk about it later, nar go say good morning ta yar mam while I see ta yar sister."

With the two oldest downstairs and about to be fed, the former spy turned his attention to the loud shouts and banging coming from the bedroom closest to the master suite.

"Hey sweetheart," he called out as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Dadadadadada," the baby girl babbled in answer as she continued to bounce up and down at the end of her cot.

The twins were a perfect blend of their parental bloodlines: Claire had her father's dark hair, piercing blue eyes and sharply defined Glenanne features while Sean with a pale complexion, sandy brown hair and his mother's blue-green orbs on a face which mirrored that of his sire.

However, Miss Fionulla Madeline McBride solely took after her paternal grandmother and namesake Madeline Westen. With unruly brown black hair stuck out at all angles and bright blue eyes, Finn most closely resembled the photographs he remembered seeing in one of his mother's many family photo albums.

"Dada…" She gave him a kiss on the cheek as he carefully lifted her into the air, wrinkling his nose at the smell coming from the bulging overfull nappy.

"Good morning, me darlin' girl. Let's getcha changed and then will go find ya sommit ta eat."

Holding Finn with one hand, her chubby legs dangling on either side of his left hip, the former covert operative half-filled the sink in the corner of the room with warm water and collected all the equipment he needed to complete his task.

Placing his baby girl down on the changing table, he quickly had her stripped down and cleaned up. It was still a constant amazement how easily he had fallen into the role of family man. It was a life he had thought he would never have and, up until he had been presented with twins whose birth he had known nothing about, it had been a life he had never wanted. But now he couldn't imagine wanting anything different.

 _He had missed so much with the twins. He had been determined to make it up to Fiona this time and, much to the amusement of the rest of the Glenanne clan, he had made sure he was there for every prenatal appointment. He had stood nervously holding his wife's hand during the first examination, when their appointed mid-wife had given them the news Mrs. McBride was eight weeks pregnant and they could expect the patter of little feet in early August, right on through all the blood tests and the scans._

 _He remembered the awe he had felt the first time Fiona had guided him to lay his palm over her expanding belly to feel the faint rippling sensation as their child moved inside, then later sitting beside his wife as the technician operating the ultrasound scan explained to them the details she was picking up on the grainy pictures. Their baby's heartbeat, fingers, toes, tiny lips moving in a sucking motion and then finding out they were having a healthy baby girl._

 _Choosing a name for their daughter had taken weeks of passing back and forth ideas until they had finally settled on Fionulla, for both her mother and the dowager queen of the clan her great grandmother, and as a second name Madeline for her paternal grandmother, a woman who lived an ocean away and was unlikely to ever meet her Irish grandchildren._

Thinking about his mother reminded Michael about the conversations they'd had after Finn had entered the world. The talk had been of taking a clandestine trip back to Miami, or at least sending Madeline some photographs of her expanding family. But he had shot down the idea of any contact. They were safe because their enemies had no idea how to find them. The risk of suddenly appearing in Miami was too great and the thought of his mother handing around photographs of her Irish grandbabies to anybody who showed an interest was too much to bear.

"There we go, darlin." Michael lifted his baby girl into his arms. Now clean, dry and dressed in fresh clothes, Finn was ready to join the rest of the family.

Letting the water out of the sink and picking up the nappy bag, Michael set off for the stairs just time to run into his wife on her way to take her shower.

"Hey, sweetheart," She gave her daughter hug and a kiss. "Mammy will be down in a few minutes...Michael, d'ya remember seein' Sean's math book? He says ya war helpin' ham wit' his homework las' night, but now he cannae find it."

"I'll take a look once I've fed this one."

Mornings in the McBride house were always a lively affair, especially on school days. The twins, who would defend each other to the death, also fought like cats and dogs when they had no common enemy to face.

With Finn strapped into her high chair with a slice of toast to chew on, Michael made a quick sweep of the kitchen searching for the missing math book. He had spent an hour the previous evening at the kitchen table helping his son grapple with fractions before leaving the boy to answer the ten problems his teacher had set. Yet there was no sign of the book anywhere. _As a secret agent, he had found things the best had tried to hide and he couldn't find a textbook?_

"Whar d'ya put tha book when ya finished?" He turned to his son, who was trading kicks with his sister under the table.

"I cannae remember... Ow! Claire, keep yar feet ta yarself."

"Claire, leave yar brother alone. Sean, ya have ta concentrate. Whot did ya do after ya finished yar homework?"

The sandy haired boy screwed up his eyes in concentration and then grinned at his father. "I played Minecraft in tha family room."

"Did ya take ya homework with ya?" Michael placed a sippy cup filled with juice on the tray to Finn's high chair.

"I-"

"Think carefully, son."

"I bet he put it down tha side o' tha settee." Claire piped up, shoving her empty breakfast bowl away. "Thot's whar tha TV remote always ends up."

"Sean, go check-" Michael paused as his cell phone began to ring. Holding up a hand, he sighed when he saw the name on the display. "Go check down tha sides o' tha settee an' under it. Claire, getcha yarself ready fer school. I'll be upstairs in a minute. I gotta take this call."

As the twins ran off, Michael answered his phone. "Colin, whot can I do fer ya?"

"Mornin' McBride, sommit has come up. D'ya remember thot list Liam got ya and Fi ta do after tha weddin', ya know tha one wit' all -"

"Tha names o' anybody we thought might come looking fer us, I remember... Who is it? Who's comin'?" The former spy moved fast, striding over to the door to first check Fiona wasn't on her way down and then to pull the wooden barrier closed.

" _Tha name only came up on me radar cuz a friend o' mine, Murph, called me about a -"_

"Tha name, Colin." The words came out from behind tightly clenched teeth. He was in no mood to listen to his brother in law explain how he came across the initial intel.

" _Brennan, Tyler Brennan... He's flying inta Dublin in the next coupla days. He's hired a friend o' mine ta verify some top secret guidance system."_

 _Brennan... Tyler Brennan...the name evoked strong memories. The self-styled high end arms dealer looking to make a score big enough to retire on and ruthless enough to kidnap a child and strap a bomb to a six year old's arm in order to make the boy's mother steal the military technology dangerous enough to sell for billions to the highest bidder._

 _And that kid's mother just happened to be his ex-fiance..._ The thoughts of seeing the slender brunette again after a decade immediately had his mind swirling around the turmoil that was his relationship with Fiona at that time, but it was only for a second before Michael was back on track. Of all the thieves in the world, Brennan had no doubt picked Samantha Keyes not only for her skill set, but because she had a son that the war merchant could manipulate.

" _Michael, are ya still thar?"_

Pacing back and forth behind his daughter's high chair the former spy was trying to keep control as he felt his perfect world begin to shatter. _Brennan had been well prepared to exact his revenge on Michael when he'd returned to Miami. The man had done his research this time. Pretending to be a lucrative potential client, Michael's nemesis had used his brother's fledgling limo service to put Nate in a room with a stone cold killer under Brennan's control to coerce ex-agent into doing his bidding. When that wasn't enough garner Michael's sufficiently swift cooperation in stealing for him, the psycho had calmly shot his younger sibling in the arm to motivate him._

It had taken convincing the arms dealer and part time spy that Mr. Westen had successfully raided his bank accounts and then put a contract out on the man's daughter. Brennan had promised he would not take this latest defeat lightly. Clearly, the man was capable of using his attachments against him, regardless of how young or innocent they might be, just as he had done to him the last time. If Brennan had found him- had found _his_ family...

Finn gurgled happily while banging her empty cup on the tray in front of her, having finished her drink moments ago. The faux Irishman looked back over his shoulder at the cascade of jet brown-black curls on the back of his baby girl's head and felt his insides turn to ice. W _hether his silver haired enemy was coming at him deliberately or this was merely a coincidence, there was no way that Tyler Brennan would be allowed to threaten the life he had built here on the Emerald Isle._

" _Michael?"_ the voice in his ear interrupted his reverie _._

"Aye, yes am har... We have ta meet today, as soon as possible."

" _Yeah, sure... I'll let Liam know."_

"No, donnae bother Liam with this, at least not until after we talk." The head of the family's heavy handed approach to the little issues of life would not help with the present situation. "Ar' ya okay wit' thot, Colin?"

" _Aye, fer now… I'll meet ya in Newry, it's about half way, especially tha way ye drive. D'ya know Cafe Cog on Patrick Street?"_

"I'll find it. Jus'… just keep it between tha two o' us, please, Colin?"

" _See ya soon, McBride."_

Michael sat down and began to feed his little girl on auto pilot, while his older two children made a cacophony of noise as they prepared for their day. However, he was only subliminally aware of it. His mind was in total tactical mode. He would fully assess the threat to his immediate and then extended family before determining how many resources he would require to neutralize it.

Slipping back into super spy mode with frightening ease, Mr. McBride had already decided that he wouldn't alarm his wife or her kin until he had determined exactly what was going on. The Glenanne tendency to spray lead on their problems could potentially make the whole situation worse.

 **()()()()()**

" _Get outta me room, Claire. I have nae got yar stupid harbrush... Whot would I want wit' it anyway?"_

" _Yer always comin' inta my room. Gimme me brush back, Sean-boy."_

" _Make me."_

" _Ya'll be sorry... Say g'bye ta yar new footie boots. Am gonna flush tham - Aaaar! Sean!"_

At the sound of her daughter's squeal and the rapid patter of feet rushing along the landing followed by the crash of what she suspected was the family bathroom door being slammed shut, Fiona hurriedly wrapped herself in a towelling dressing gown and rushed out to deal with the warring siblings.

"Sean Michael, Claire Michelle, whot ar' tha pair o' ya playin' at?"

"Mammy, she's taken me footie boots." Sean continued to try to pry open the bathroom door.

"Am sick o' ham takin' me things," came Claire's reply.

"Enough! Enough now, tha pair o' ya. Claire, come out of tha bathroom an' give yar brother his boots." After a second, the door opened and the dark haired girl tossed her brother's prized football boots onto the floor. "Sean, yer ta stay outta yar sister's room. Donnae have me tell ya again... Now, tha both o' ya finish getting ready fer school... Whar's yar daddy?"

"He hadda a phone call fram Uncle Colin," Claire answered as she pushed past her twin.

Fiona waited until both of her children disappeared into their respective rooms and then with a sigh walked back to her own. Over the last couple of years, she had begun to feel like she was living in a war zone, as the two seven year olds took every opportunity to torment each other.

Then she smiled wryly, memories of her own childhood flashed before her, of throwing herself down a flight of stairs intent on committing murder on her brother Seamus for his wilful destruction of her favorite soft toys or the many times she clashed with Sean when his teasing became too much.

After silently making a promise to apologize to her mother for all she must have put her through as a child, Fiona quickly dried her body and secured her wet hair in a bun before slipping into black cotton cargo pants and a soft white woollen sweater. If Colin was calling so early in the morning, there was a good chance her husband would be heading North before the day was out.

"Claire, Sean, it's nearly time fer school. I want ya both ready ta go in ten minutes," the mistress of the house called out as she made her way towards the stairs.

Reaching the kitchen, Fiona pushed open the door to find her husband wiping their little ones hands and face. "Claire said Colin wa' on tha phone. Does thot mean our quiet day is done fer?"

"Am not sure yet. Am gonna meet ham after I drop tha twins off... Whot wa' all tha shoutin' about?" With Finn's sticky fingers and crumble covered mouth cleaned up, Michael lifted his daughter free of the high chair and carefully placed her down on the floor.

"Nothin' ta worry about." Fiona squatted down and held her arms out as Finn toddled towards her. "Just a little disagreement about keepin' ta one's own space…"

"We've got more rooms than we need. D'ya think we should put more space between tham?"

Straightening up with her baby girl in her arms, Fiona studied her mate as he turned his back on her to wash up the children's breakfast bowls.

"An' which one wa' ya thinkin' o' tellin' they had ta move thar things?"

"Oh, um... Was nae Claire complainin' about wantin' a bigger room? We've got four more bedrooms; she could choose whichever one she wanted."

He was taking his time rinsing the few bit and pieces in the sink, refusing to make eye contact.

"Michael, whot did me brother want?"

He turned to face her barring his teeth in a dazzling smile, which only increased her suspicion he was up to something.

"Tis nothin'… He has a friend who needs a little bit o' advice, thot's all." He stepped towards her wrapping his arms about his wife and child, placing a lingering kiss the dark curls on Finn's head before pressing his lips to hers with surprising passion, given what they had been doing earlier in the morning. "I need ta get changed if Am goin' onta a meetin after droppin' tha terrible two off. If war lucky, I might be back while this one's having a nap."

Fiona stared at her retreating husband's back as he disappeared through the kitchen door.

 _There was something off about him._ Maybe he was still nursing a grudge about his new ridiculously expensive golf club that was now her new favorite non-explosive method of persuasion. She shrugged internally as Finn drew her attention by pulling on her long auburn locks. _If he did happen to get home while their youngest was taking a nap, she would get it out of him soon enough_.

Grinning at the possibilities, Fiona turned and left the kitchen, eager to get on with her day.

 **()()()()()**

"Daddy, will ya be takin' us ta karate t'night?" Sean asked from his seat in the back of his father's two year old Ford Mustang.

"Ya have nae been ta watch us fer weeks an' it's tha club competitions in a coupla weeks," Claire added.

"Wa're both been picked fer tha teams. Am in tha junior A team, Claire is in tha girls B team -"

"But thot's because thar are more girls teams than boys."

Michael watched his children through the rear view mirror, sitting side by side dressed in their school uniforms and for once not fighting with each other. Suddenly, the ex-spy felt physically sick at the thought of Tyler Brennan being in the same city as his family.

" _It took a while to get an assassin in place."_ He'd spoken matter of factly while doing his best to ignore the pleading look in his wounded brother's eyes _._

In desperation he had made the merchant of war believe he really was as bad as his burn notice made him out to be and that he was cold hearted enough to have a child murdered to foil an enemy.

" _If you go near her, if you touch her, if – if she so much as skins her knee in the playground, I swear to God, Westen, I will spend the rest of my life destroying you and everything you love."_

The war merchant had spat the words out, beyond furious, a father protecting his defenseless daughter from a ruthless former government agent.

"So will ya take us ta karate t'night, daddy?" Claire pressed for an answer.

" _You'll hear from me again, Michael._ "

Tyler Brennan's final threat was stuck in his mind, playing over and over again, blocking out everything else. Everything he knew about the arms dealer told him the silver haired man had the money and the contacts to track him down if that was what he wanted to do.

"Daddy?"

"Huh?" Michael forced his fears to the back of his mind as his daughter's voice finally broke through his distracted reverie.

"Will ya come an' watch us t'night? It's only an hour lesson."

He knew it was doubtful. By tonight, he fully expected to be hunting down the threat to his family. But that wasn't something he ever wanted his children to have to deal with. _It was his job to keep them safe._

"I'll do my best, honey."

He blinked as he realized that he'd called his daughter honey, a code word he and Fiona had come up with long ago to warn of danger and he had just let it slip out. _He was more spooked than he'd ever been before._

Finding a parking place close to the school, they walked the rest of the way to the gates, the former spy on high alert keeping and his eyes peeled for anybody who looked out of place.

Standing in the playground waiting for the school bell to ring, he suddenly squatted down before his children. Drawing them in close, he kissed Sean and then Claire on the cheek.

"Ya both be good. Yar ma will pick ya up later and I'll do me best ta make it ta yar karate lesson tonight... If -" He bit back the words of warning.

One of the reasons they had picked this particular school was because of its levels of security. Once they were inside the building, the twins would be safe until Fiona collected them at three thirty. Luckily he was saved by the bell before his fears could be given voice.

"I'll see ya both later, nar off ya go."

Michael McBride stood guard over his offspring like he had over countless diplomats and dignitaries in another life until they entered the secured sanctuary of their school building, the devoted dad he had become and the cold stone spy he had been merging together. It didn't matter if the man from this past was just here to make a deal or on the Emerald Isle looking for him and his family specifically, _there was only one way this was going to end_ , he thought grimly as he walked swiftly towards his car. Annabelle Brennan, as much as he hated to think on this as a father now himself, was in for a terrible life altering experience.

 _Because Tyler Brennan was going to die… silently and soon_.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** _This is the seventh part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 17 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 7**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Newry, October 2017_

 _In any desperate situation, the temptation is always to act immediately. It's understandable, but unwise. No matter how bad things are, the first step is always the same, assess the threat and figure out how bad things really are._

Michael felt a growing level of concern as his satnav directed him further into a rundown area of Newry. This was Continuity IRA territory, a splinter group of the PIRA which had chosen to continue the fight in a similar but smaller way as the Real IRA. It was not the sort of place he expected the family computer genius to choose for a clandestine meeting amongst, if not exactly the enemy, the CIRA had no love for those working with Sinn Fein to end hostilities.

Finally, the satnav announced he had reached his destination and there squashed into a narrow space between a large veterinary practice and a hardware store was Café Cog, its plate glass windows emblazoned with a sign proclaiming it to be the first internet café in Newry and various posters informing any passers-by of upcoming events.

Pulling up to the curb, McBride sucked in his cheeks as he spotted a group of teenagers hanging out in the children's playground opposite; all four of the boys were eyeing up the shiny new model muscle car driven by a stranger to their neighborhood. He'd seen that look before. _Hell, as a teenager he would have been the first one across the street with a slim Jim at the ready as soon as the owner was out of sight._

"McBride!" The rap of knuckles on his side window and the loud voice startled the former spy as he twisted around to find himself staring at the bespectacled face of his brother-in-law. "Ya can park up round tha back." The red headed Irishman pointed to the side street further along the road. "Take tha next left an' then another almost straight after. Ya can get in through tha back door. Am friends wit' tha owner. She's givin' us tha use o' tha place fer an hour."

With a terse nod of his head, Michael put his Mustang into gear and drove off slowly to make the tricky tight turn onto the side road and then maneuver the large car along the narrow alleyway and into the tiny space at the back of the café taken up by an old beaten-up Volvo estate car and a black Mercedes S class saloon which looked suspiciously like Liam Glenanne's present mode of transport.

"Whot tha hell?" he mumbled under his breath as he exited his own vehicle. He'd asked Colin to keep his big brother out of the loop until after they had talked and he'd had a chance to work out exactly how much trouble Brennan was going to bring to his adopted home town.

Pursing his lips, the former spy locked his car and walked towards the back door of the café. Michael had no wish to butt heads with the oldest of the Glenanne siblings. He'd hoped that by the time Liam had gotten involved, he would have had time to come up with a plan for dealing with the black market arms dealer which would keep the head of the family happy. Colin must have gone running straight to his brother for the man to be waiting for him inside unfortunately.

 _Running an operation, you can't let personal feelings get in the way. It's about planning and execution, although occasionally you may get a little angry._

Entering through the unlocked back door, Michael made his way through a small storeroom and the kitchen until he reached the front of the premises. A long counter ran the length of one side of the room fitted with six computer stations. The rest of the space was fitted out with comfortable looking padded chairs and low coffee tables.

"McBride, ya took yar sweet time getting' har." Liam Glenanne was lounging in one of the chairs, a hot drink in one hand while the other was flicking through a sheaf of paperwork which was balanced on his lap.

"Thar wa' an accident on tha N1 near Dundalk." Michael shrugged and dropped down into the seat facing the head of the family before turning his cold flat gaze on to the only other man in the room. "Colin, I thought this wa' jus' between us?"

"Well, I -"

"Colin brought it ta me cuz this is more than a pissin' contest between yarself an' an old enemy, McBride," Liam spoke over the top of his younger brother. Leaning forward, he handed over the paperwork he had been reading to the former covert operative. "Har, I know how much ya like ta have everythin' written down...Colin, fill McBride in wit' tha details."

Michael eagerly took the proffered pages and, after a swift glance at the top sheet, lifted his gaze to his red haired in-law. "How long did it take ya ta put all this together?"

"A lot o' it came fram me friend Murph. He usually works fram referrals, so when yar man Brennan rang him up outta tha blue, saying he'd been given Murph's name as tha best encryption guy in Ireland an' he'd pay twenty K just ta have tha intel on a thumb drive verified, he gotta a bit suspicious." Colin flashed a grin. "You'd like Murph, Michael. Yer a lot alike, ya know, wit' tha whole if sommit looks taa good -?"

"And he put this all together after one phone call?" The ex-spy flicked through the first few pages, impressed with the depth of background information Colin's contact had managed to dig up on the black marketeer in such a short amount of time.

"He used ta work for British intelligence as an analyst at GCHQ 'til he'd had enough an' did a runner in '85. He's a good man, McBride, fer a Brit, but not tha trustful type if ya take me meanin'. As soon as he found out whot sorta fella this Brennan guy is, thot's when he gave me a call... If ya read through, ya'll see how much shite is about ta come down on us all."

Knowing the sort of weaponry the illicit arms dealer and part time spy liked to trade in, Michael had already guessed that his old adversary turning up in Dublin was going to bring trouble. But now at least it looked like this wasn't a personal visit; not that that was going to change his opinion about how the visit was going to end.

After one quick look at the rest of the pages of the report, many of them in Russian, Michael returned the stack of papers to his lap, folded his arms over his chest and barred his teeth in his characteristic smile. "Why don't you explain it all to me, Colin, it'll be quicker."

"Okay, then," the redhead agreed with a nod. "After Murph had looked inta yar man Brennan and found out about how most o' his schemes end in bloodshed, he rang me fer some advice. He wa' worried he wa' either walkin' inta a MI6 trap or thot being involved in some high tech weapon deal would get ham inta trouble wit' them boys." He glanced sideways at his older brother. "So after I spoke ta ya, we decided tha best thing ta do wa' ta try an work out whot it was he needed verifying... We war pretty sure tha seller had ta be -"

"Colin, stop wastin' time. We all know how feckin' clever ya ar' and we have nae got all day," Liam butted in. The older man glanced at his watch and then over to the café entrance.

"Thot's whot Am tryin' ta do... So, as I wa' sayin', we knew it had ta be sommit big. So while I spoke ta a few o' me contacts, Murph, tha crafty bugger thot he is, started checkin' out if thar wa' anybody else o' interest comin' inta tha country in the next few days... And guess whot?" He paused, hoping to draw the former spy into a guessing game; however, Michael refused to be drawn in. "Elias Dementer travelled fram Romania ta Dublin two days ago."

"And who is Elias Dementer?" the dark haired man asked.

"He's tha son o' Josef Dementer, tha self-proclaimed king o' tha Roma gypsies, camped out in a rented house in north Dublin. A week ago, Elias wa' visiting kin in tha Crimea about tha same time as a Russian naval intelligence officer got himself robbed and killed in a cheap hotel on his way ta Sevastopol."

"And he wa' carryin' tha tech Brennan wants verifyin'?" the ex-agent guessed.

"Tha Ruskie wa' last seen goin' inta tha hotel wit' one o' tha local gypsy girls... Murph's best guess is sommit happened in a thot room an' she wasted him and jus' grabbed his valuables befer bolting back ta har pimp."

"Gippos aren't known fer stealin' military secrets, but tha ones over har are known, amongst other things, fer keepin' whores," Liam interjected. Leaning forward, he took back the stack of paperwork and flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Har, take a look at this."

Michael skimmed down the page, his eyes widening as he read the details of what had been stolen. "An' whot makes yar friend think tha schematics fer prototype fuel cells fer unmanned underwater drones is tha piece o' missin' tech?"

"Cuz Murph still has friends inside the GCHQ and they've told him thar's a load o' chatter comin' outta tha Crimea... Tha Russians ar' lookin' fer tha girl an' har people; they have nae found them yet, but when they do -"

"An' when they trace thar missing thumb drive ta Ireland, thot's when wer gonna end up wit' another war on our hands." The head of the family locked his pale blue eyes onto his one and only brother-in-law. "An' when Dublin's crawlin' wit' spies, nothin' will get done. _We'll all_ _be in tha spotlight..."_

Michael froze, seeing the end of his perfect life looming before him. This was far worse than he had first thought. Simply killing Brennan wouldn't end the threat. They needed to get the thumb drive out of Ireland before any Russian spies came looking for their property.

" _If you commit any crime, any act of terrorism, I cannot be -"_ The words of his former handler and now a Home Office official Richard Chambers rang through his brain, reminding him that his own and his family's anonymity was only guaranteed as long as he did nothing to draw attention to himself.

Swallowing thickly, the father of three and loving husband of Mrs. Fiona McBride felt a shift in his soul. _This situation was too dangerous to allow emotions to get in the way of what had to be done. The threat to his family had to be removed come what may_. _If necessary, he would come up with some other way of getting Chambers to keep his identity a secret._

"McBride, did ya hear me? It won't just be tha Ruskies poking thar noses whar they donnae belong, tha Brits, tha Yanks -"

"I heard ya, Liam." Michael stared back into his brother-in-law's cold pale eyes. "I'll deal wit' it."

"Ya'll deal wit' it by puttin' a bullet in thot Brennan feller's head an' then we'll drive tha gypsies outta Dublin... It might be enough... If they cannae sell it har, they'll go elsewhere an' become somebody else's problem."

"No, thot wonnae be enough ta keep tha Russians or tha Brits fram stickin' thar noses in this. Liam, give me some time to come up wit' a plan." Michael looked to the other Glenanne sibling for support. "Colin, does yar friend know when tha hand off is supposed ta take place?"

"Aye, it's all in tha report. He's flyin' inta Dublin by private jet on Monday, an' he's booked a suite at tha Shelbourne fer one night before flyin' out again in tha early hours o' Wednesday."

"So, tha deal is goin' down Tuesday night," Mr. McBride nodded thoughtfully as his mind was frantically trying to come up with a strategy. "Thot gives me four days. I know tis nae much time, but I can do it," he asserted, cutting off Liam's objections before the older man could raise them. "I swear ta ya, I'll come up wit' a way o' dealing wit' both Brennan an' tha people who stole tha Russian tech which'll keep us all out of tha limelight."

He could see the head of the family was sceptical about his ability to deliver on his promise, but just when he thought Liam was going to say no, the man nodded his head in agreement. "I'll give ya _two_ days ta convince me o' yar plan... If not, then on tha third day we do things my way an' hit Brennan on his way ta tha hotel an' bury ham at sea."

"Thank ya…" Michael was grateful he'd won and a lot easier than he thought he would have. Now he just had to come up with a way to deliver on his assurances. "I should get back home an' let Fi know whot's goin' on."

"Good idea," the eldest agreed. "Take Colin wit' ya." Liam got to his feet, his focus on the front door to the café and the large white panel van which had just come to a stop outside. "Tis comin' up lunchtime, Colin, and yar friend will want ta open up and I have some business ta attend ta."

"Ya need any help wit' thot?" Michael felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as the passenger door on the van swung open and a young man climbed out the barrel of a shotgun peeking out from under his coat.

"No, thar wit' me... Some o' tha Continuity idjits have taken ta sellin' drugs outside St. Mary's High School. Am har ta teach them tha error o' thar ways." Even though the PIRA had renounced violence and officially disarmed, the group had not released its hold on the areas where it was effectively the law.

"We'll get going then. Come on, Colin." Michael caught hold of his other brother-in-law's arm and started towards the back door as the older man went out of the front.

Whether it was dealing drugs, attacks on the elderly, unsanctioned robberies or murders, all brought the risk of being dragged off the street to face trial in a kangaroo court followed by swift and brutal punishment for those found guilty. This was a slice of the Glenanne family way of life that Michael rarely had any part in.

On the long, boring drive south along the N1 to Dublin, Michael pushed Colin for all he knew about Josef Dementer and the Roma gypsy clan, which had arrived and soon settled in Dublin four years ago. If he could work out some way of getting their leader to hand the thumb drive over, it would be half the battle won.

 _Covert operatives try to avoid assuming other people's identities whenever possible. There're just too many pitfalls when you're dealing with someone your new identity has corresponded with. What have they said? What have they been told? What have they agreed to?_

But a voice in his head cautioned against that plan. He knew enough about Brennan that he was confident he could imitate the arms dealer. However, he had no idea about what had already been agreed and if they had actually spoken, or even worse arranged code words, his cover would be blown immediately. _No, he needed another plan something that would remove Brennan as a threat permanently and make sure no Russian spy ever came searching for missing top secret intel in Ireland, which could bring other intelligence agencies sniffing around their business_.

"Once yar back in front o' a computer, d'ya think ya can find whar Dementer an' his men do thar business? Liam said they pimp girls? Whot about tha rest o' tha ways they make money? I need sommit I can use against tham."

"I can do thot now if ya like." Colin brought out an I-pad from the inside pocket of his coat.

That brought a slight smile to Michael's face, the first to grace his features since he'd learned of the impending arrival of his adversary in his adopted home. Then it faded quickly as he thought about what other memories the name _Tyler Brennan_ would invoke in his lovely bride.

()()()()()

" _Help yar self ta some lunch. Am gonna find Fiona."_

Fiona was upstairs in her bedroom taking neatly folded, or in some cases packaged clothing, out of shopping bags and laying the articles out on top of her king size bed when she heard the sound of her husband's voice float up from the hallway below.

" _Take yar time, McBride. If ya donnae mind, I'll log onta yar computer I'll be able ta do a better search on thot than tha tablet."_

 _He had brought Colin back wit' him. That wa' a surprise..._ She held up a long black dress, shaking out the fabric before reaching for a hanger to hang it in her wardrobe.

After Michael had left with the twins, Fiona had taken Finn out in her pushchair to get some fresh air and to visit the nearby shops in Monkstown, returning home several hours later with bulging shopping bags. Back home and after a play on the floor and some lunch, the youngest McBride had been only too happy to have a nap, leaving her mother to unpack the outfits she had bought especially for the All Saints day celebrations.

"Fi, ar' ya up har?" Michael called out lowly. he had already peered into the nursery and spotted his daughter sound asleep in her cot.

"Am in tha bedroom, Michael? Was thot Colin I heard ya speaking ta?"

"Aye, he came back wit' me... Liam was busy an' I still needed his help wit' some things, I left ham in tha kitchen."

"Tha kitchen?" Fiona turned around quickly. "I've just finished putting away tha last of tha food fer tha party tomorrow. Have ya gone daft, man? Ya know whot he's like. He'll eat tha lot."

"He's but one man, me luv. I doubt he'll make his way through more than half." The former spy swallowed and glanced about the room uneasily. He had been so busy thinking about Brennan, he had completely forgotten about the family Halloween party they were supposed to be hosting.

Crossing the room he stopped alongside his wife, noticing the strange mix of clothing lain out on their bed and then, when he looked into her blue green eyes, his emotions got the better of him.

She had been planning this party for weeks, the twins were both excited at having all their cousins there to join in the festivities. With Halloween falling on a school night, they had both been afraid they would miss out on most of the fun. When their mother had suggested a party on the weekend before and then they could go out trick or treating on the Tuesday night, the two seven year olds had jumped for joy and now he was about to ruin it all.

Guilt welled up in him where once only the cold tactical reality of their situation would have dictated his emotional response. He thought for a moment about his own experiences with Halloween as a child. He had been only a few of years older than the twins when he had abandoned donning a costume to gather candy in favor of mischief making, pranks which only gotten more serious as he got older. _He wanted his children to have a better life than he had._

"So, whot d'ya think?" Fiona beamed holding a black dress on hanger up against her body.

The sombre looking dress was low cut, looking as if it was going to be uncomfortably tight to wear and, if not for the slight flare at the bottom, almost impossible to walk in.

"It's not your normal style." He offered a lame opinion. But luckily for him, his wife was more interested in showing off the rest of her purchases.

"I thought I'd carry on wit' tha theme Claire chose an' become Morticia Addams, _annnd_ I picked out this fer Sean. He wanted ta be one o' those dreadful creatures fram Doctor Who, tha ones thot ya ferget as soon as ya see tham, fram a few seasons ago, _tha silence_." She carefully draped the dress on the bed and picked up a deformed skull-like mask. "Sooo, I wa' hoping you'd see fit ta join in fer once an' come as the Doctor. I donnae mind whichever one ya want ta be. I mean, thar's been thot many ta choose fram…." Her words trailed off as he shook his head.

With a huff, the former paramilitary soldier discarded the mask and folded her arms over her chest.

"Why is it when ya have spent half yar adult life dressing up an' pretending ta be somebody yer nae, ya cannae join in wit' yar children on this one celebration?"

"First o' all," he replied, stepping forward with one hand coming up to cup her cheek. "Ya never really approved o' me _dressing up_ as ya say... Secondly, ya can nae hold it against me when Am jus' tryin' ta fit in wit' tha rest o' yar family... Which one of yar brothers have ya ever seen in anything other than street clothes at one o' these parties?"

 _He had her there._ It was true though her sister-in-laws would make an effort to join in the festivities, but her siblings never. The last time she had seen any of her brothers in costume to go trick or treating, or for any other reason come to that, had been Sean when he was ten years old, dressed in military fatigues, a black balaclava hiding his features and armed with an air rifle.

She had been six at the time and her mother had refused to let her go with the boys into Derry for the evening. With their father away, she remembered how her mother had ordered Pat Junior to make sure the younger boys were kept safe and then the commotion later on that night when they had all arrived back at the farm full of high spirits as they told the tale of how soldiers had tried to take Sean's rifle away, threatening them all with a night in the cells when they fought back.

That was until one of Pat Junior's friends had thrown a Molotov cocktail under a car and the resulting explosion had been all the distraction they had needed as the soldiers ran off to investigate the blaze and the five boys had sprinted in the opposite direction.

" _Yer one o' us now, Sean lad."_ Pat Junior had crowed with her mother's tacit approval. _"While all tham soldier boys ware watchin' us, they war nae watchin' tha two car loads o' guns being smuggled through tha check point they wa' supposed ta be guarding."_ Fiona pushed away the memory of the burning want to be a part of the cause that had long ago consumed her family.

"Have I told ya recently thot yer no fun, Michael?" she mock pouted.

"Not recently, me luv…" He smiled softly and his hand drifted to her neck as he tilted her head up so he could plant a quick kiss on the tip of her nose and her lips. Then his expression became serious and he cleared a space on the bed for them to sit down before continuing.

"I know yer probably goin' ta want ta hit me fer this... But I think we need ta cancel tha party, in fact I think we should cancel tha whole Halloween celebration."

"No! Why?" she demanded, stiffening before drawing away from him. "Whot's goin' on, Michael? Has this sommit ta do with why me brother is emptying our fridge downstairs?"

"Sommit has come up. I donnae want ya ta worry about it, I'm dealing with it. But I-"

She balled up her hand into a fist and hit him hard on the shoulder, watching him wince from the blow. "Ya cannae say sommit has come up an' in tha same breath tell me I donnae need ta worry! Thot tis no big deal and yet ya wanta cancel tha party. I'm nae an idjit, remember? Whot's happened? Whot has yar knickers in a twist?"

"Tyler Brennan," he blurted out. "Ya remember him? Well, Colin got word he's comin' ta Dublin on Monday."

For a brief second, it was as if everything stopped. She could feel the pressure building in her chest. Of all the people who hated Michael Westen, only Tyler Brennen had ever been so brazen as to strap a bomb to a child, using the boy as a pawn in his game and of course the universe in all its perverse humor had seen to it that out of the billions of innocents in the world that the arms dealer could have kidnapped, it was Michael's former lover who was that child's mother.

When his ex-fiancée had turned up asking for help, Fiona had been hurt and angry over his previous evasiveness, never mentioning the woman ever, and more than a little irritated with the slender brunette's playful and coy behavior whenever she was near her former boyfriend. But that had been her own fault really for telling the thief that she and Michael were not involved, which at the time was a questionable comment.

 _And I left her because you don't marry someone when you love somebody else._

Remembering the first time Michael had ever come close to admitting out loud that he loved her dismissed her pique at the thought of Samantha Keyes, but her utter fury over the silver haired war merchant and the things he had done came roaring back _because_ _this time_ _it was her children who were the potential targets_.

"I'll go get me Hectate then." She was on her feet now. "Does Colin have a location? Is thar good cover thar fer me ta take tha shot? We'll have at take tha children ta me mam's an' let tham go trick or treatin' in har -"

"No…no, no, no, slow down, Fi… Thar's more ta it than thot." Had he been in a laughing mood, Michael would have chuckled at his beautiful bride immediately planning on taking out any threat to her family with a high powered sniper rifle. But he couldn't let her just put a bullet in Brennan any more than her older brother, regardless of how much he would have enjoyed that sight.

Catching hold of her slender wrist, Michael pulled his wife back down next to him, tightening his grip when she fought against his restraint.

"Whot could be more important ta ya than protectin' our children?"

He gulped, swallowing thickly at her accusation as she stared back at him through narrowed eyes. Sucking in a breath, he prepared for more blows to come his way as he began to explain why they couldn't just shoot Brennan and drop his corpse into a deep hole.

" _Nothing_ is more important ta me than our children." The faux Irishman took both her hands in his and stared deeply into her angry blue-green orbs, the intensity he put into that gaze leaving her in no doubt of the veracity of his words. "That's why we have ta do this tha _right way_. If Brennan is killed or vanishes off tha face of tha earth, thar'll be people who will miss him, who'll come lookin' fer him. His death would be investigated and thot's nae tha worst o' it."

Michael was pleased to see her relax, as the fury left her eyes. Feeling confident she wasn't about to unleash a torrent of blows, the ex-spy gave his wife's small but deadly hands a squeeze before continuing. "He's comin' har ta buy a thumb drive containing tha top secret designs fer fuel cells thot go inta unmanned underwater drones. These fuel cells will allow tha drones ta go deeper an' travel further undetected. Tha thumb drive was stolen off a Russian naval intelligence officer by members of a gypsy clan currently livin' nae ten miles away from whar we are now..."

Her husband waited, gauging the the redhead's reaction before continuing.

"Ya see tha problem, Fi? We have ta make sure thot thumb drive gets put inta tha right hands while making sure Brennan an' tha men he's dealin' wit' pay fer thar crimes, all without any suspicion fallin' on our heads."

"And how do we pull off thot miracle, Michael?" she asked softly.

"Am not sure yet, Colin is lookin' inta how tha gypsies make thar money... Thar might be a way we can make it more profitable fer tham ta hand over tha drive." He paused again as a glimmer of an idea fluttered into his mind.

 _It would take plenty of surveillance,_ _something his beloved had never been a fan of,_ _and it would be tricky to pull off._ His eyes went to the clothes on the bed. _But if they could do it, it would be highly appropriate for the time of year._ Biting his bottom lip, the dark haired former covert operative studied his former gunrunning, bomb making wife's expression, wondering what she would make of the plan slowly taking shape in his brain.

"Michael...? Ya have thot look on yar face, tha one whar Am nae sure if I should punch ya or kiss ya."

"I prefer tha kiss, if I have a choice..." He leaned in to buss her quickly before she could change her mind about the options he'd been presented.

"So, whot d'ya have in mind, Mr. McBride?"

"These gypsies... fram whot I already know an' tha few things Colin has already discovered, they take thar folk tales and suspicions very seriously. Am wondering about doin' somethin' similar ta whot we did in Little Dominica. D'ya remember tha gangbanger, Omar, thot we got ta help us catch thot child predator Sam's friend wa' after? If we could convince tha gypsies thot thumb drive wa' cursed or carried bad Juju, or whotever. I donnae whot they'd call it."

"Michael," Fiona purred, grinning brightly. "Ya wanta play dress up after all."

"No, nae exactly..." He'd caught and recognized the humor in her tone and joined in with a smile of his own. "Okay, I admit, if ya wanta call dressing up putting on a black suit an' a red shirt an' tie, then thot's whot worked in Miami. So I think it'll do -"

"Oh no, Michael, this time yer gonna have ta go all out if ya wanta pull tha wool over tha eyes o' these people. Thar a superstitious bunch, but thar nae gullible. I remember seeing them at every fairground, an' out on tha streets around Ha'penny Bridge. Those not outright begging or thieving ar' offerin' ta tell yar fortune fer a few Euro. Margaret Sullivan, Claire's best friend's mother, she goes ta see one o' tham regularly ta talk ta har dead mother. A lounge suit an' slicking yar hair back isn't gonna be enough ta fool them."

Full of enthusiasm for her husband's proposed strategy, Fiona got to her feet and went over to her dressing table. Opening one of the drawers, she began to place items on the top. "I have an idea, if yer up ta puttin yarself inta me hands."

Walking up behind her, he slipped his arms about her slim waist, putting his mouth close to her ear. "Now, thot's sommit I'm always ready ta do." He nipped her earlobe and then, as she squirmed, her bottom grinding into him, licked it better, while her laughter lifting the weight on his soul.

"So, ya'll let me turn _Luis_ , inta Luis-Cy-pher?"

"Ta get rid of Brennan, ya can turn me inta tha devil himself." His lips were on her throat now, as he kissed his way down to her collarbone, while his hands moved up from her waist to fondle her breasts over the top of her clothes.

The last few hours had been fraught with fear for his family, a cold dread clenching at his heart. But now that they had the beginnings of a plan, all he wanted was to hold on to the strong capable woman before him.

"Michael, whot's got inta ya? Me brother is downstairs." She turned in his arms and was immediately pulled even closer.

"Ya have accused me o' nae being any fun more than once taday an' I have been -"

He let his words trail away, unwilling to let her know exactly how much the thought of Tyler Brennan coming after his family had shaken him up. Once upon a time, he would have never allowed the attachments in his life that would have left him vulnerable to this sort of danger. Now, all he wanted was to take a moment of solace with the woman who was and always had been his center, even when he was too blind or stubborn to admit it before.

"Oh..." The petite Irishwoman wriggled a hand free and reached up to stroke her palm over his cheek, her thumb tracing the lines of the scar at the corner of his eye. Fiona was torn between being mad at him for keeping the knowledge of danger to himself and wanting to revel in the moment of intimacy because pretty soon they would both be too wrapped up in removing the threat to their happy home for moments like this.

If their fourteen month old didn't wake up first that is.

Turning his head and lifting his chin, Michael managed to maneuver her thumb between his lips, sucking on the digit as his tongue lightly stroked the pad. Letting her go, he looked into her eyes, warmed to his core to see only her love for him reflected in her blue green orbs.

"Fi..." He breathed her name in a sigh and, in a swift smooth move, scooped her up into his arms, cradling her to his chest and ignoring the quizzical look on her beautiful face. After one quick detour to push the bedroom door shut, the ex-spy carried his wife over to the bed.

"Tha clothes, Michael, thar new, don-"

But her dark haired husband ignored her complaints while he pushed her new dress, the mask and everything else on to the floor, making room for his lover to fall down onto the duvet.

"We shouldn't..." she whispered. But when his fingers undid the button on the waistband of her cargo pants, the rest of what she was going to say died in her throat and when he lowered the zipper and tugged the soft cotton down along with her silky white knickers, the lithe redhead lifted her hips to aid the removal of her pants and under garments.

"Michael..." she said his name on a sigh, clearly only offering a token protest to his uncharacteristic disregard for her brother being in the house.

"Fi, I want... I _need_ this... _I need you_."

Michael knelt on the bed between her knees, his work hardened hands lightly rubbing up and down her calf muscles and then the backs of her thighs, gently guiding her lower limbs up onto his shoulders as in turn he sunk down to lay kiss after kiss over her belly and then lower down, over the narrow strip of soft curls at the apex of her legs before his mouth and tongue delved lower and deeper still.

Her lover breathed in her scent and tasted the building moisture, felt her whole body tense and quiver all about him. _This was one of his favorite places in the whole world._ He pressed his tongue into her core, curling the tip to brush lightly over her clit, making writhe wildly, her strong toned thighs tightening about his ears.

Reaching out, the dark haired man gripped her hips firmly, holding her still as he worked her into a frenzy, using his elbows to force her thighs further apart as he sucked and lapped at her pulsing center. Her sharp nails were raking across his scalp and shoulders, urging him onwards until with muffled whine she fell over the edge, her whole body bucking and twisting as he relentlessly took her all the way to ecstasy and beyond.

This was more than he could bear, kneeling there, staring at her flushed body, her arms and legs akimbo, still twitching from the aftershocks. He could almost feel all the blood in his body rush towards his rapidly enlarging erection, the denim growing uncomfortably tight.

She stared up at him glassy eyed and then slowly sat up. "Am gonna have ta tell ya yer no fun more often. Now it's yar turn."

Her words broke the spell that had held them both still. He freed his belt and she was already pulling down the zip on his pants, reaching inside for the throbbing manhood waiting for her touch.

" _MCBRIDE! FIONA!_ _What are yar doin' thar? I've nae got all day. D'ya nae want any lunch? I'm fair starvin' down har waitin' on ya, so I am!"_

Colin's voice carried all the way up the stairs and, from the wails coming through the baby monitor, it had startled Finn awake.

"What tha friggin' hell!" Michael threw his head back to stare up at the ceiling, as his wife's warm hand slipped away from the uncomfortably hard piece of flesh she had been holding onto.

" _Mama! Mammeeeee! Mam, mam, mam..._ " Finn, now fully awake and no longer scared, set up a persistent call for attention.

"Am gonna kill thot brother o' mine," Fiona swore as she scowled fiercely. Swinging her legs off the bed, she pulled a few tissues from on top of her bedside table, wiping herself down. "Am gonna kill him slowly an' -" The only Glenanne girl turned her head back to her husband. "Am sorry, look I'll get Finn an' see whot Colin is yellin' about... Ya...ya take a minute before ya join us." She tried to keep her expression blank in deference to her man's difficulties of the moment. It certainly wouldn't do to giggle at his predicament.

Picking up her discarded clothing, she quickly made herself decent and got to her feet before cradling her dark haired lover's head in her hand and placing a long lingering kiss to his lips. "Donnae worry, I'll make it up ta ya. We'll continue this later, me darlin' man."

()()()()()

Fully clothed and having given her baby girl a quick nappy change, the lady of the house headed downstairs, her bare feet making no sound on the floor even when carrying her child on her hip. Carefully opening the kitchen door, she discovered her neat and tidy work surfaces covered in crumbs from where her brother had made himself a toasted cheese and ham sandwich. She knew he had used the sandwich toaster because it was still on the counter top with cold melted cheese all over the non-stick surface.

With the scowl from earlier back in place, Fiona and her wee one crept up on the older man who was rummaging through their well stocked fridge. Taking hold of the door she jerked it back and then slammed it shut, eliciting a yelp of pain from Colin as he snatched his fingers from between the door of the fridge.

"Jayzuz, Fiona, whot was thot fer?"

"Thot? Thot wa' fer all tha mess ya've left in me clean kitchen and fer yellin' ya head off and frightening Finn." She delivered a kick to his thigh, not quite high enough to do any serious damage. "An thot's fer -" She stopped, a blush rising up on her cheeks.

"Fer whot, Fi?" He grinned and at that moment she knew that her older brother had been well aware of what had been going on upstairs. "Ya keep carryin' on like thot an' ya'll be givin' this one another brother or sister."

"Don-" She jabbed him in the chest with a pointed finger. "Just donnae – narry another word outta ya," she warned.

"Nae another word? Are ya sure about thot? Cuz while I wa' enjoying me sandwich, I think I found tha house our gypsy friends are using as a base."

"Lucky fer ya then," his sister advised. "Cuz if ya donnae have all the answers Michael's lookin' fer when he gets downstairs, yer a dead man."

His self-satisfied grin faded as her sibling put together _exactly_ _what_ he had interrupted. When Michael entered the kitchen ten minutes later, looking extremely put out and dangerously disgruntled, the clan computer expert had, with Fiona's input, come up with a laundry list of activities that a certain someone could disrupt with his own special flair.

Luckily for Colin Glenanne, it was going to be the Roma gypsies and ultimately Tyler Brennan who would have the devil to pay in the coming days.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** _This is the eighth part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 18 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 8**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Monkstown, Late Evening, 28 October 2017_

 _When you work for an intelligence agency, you operate within an official structure. There's a chain of command to report to, protocols to be observed. No one questions their mission. But when you're working with family, you don't have those luxuries. Getting your team on board may require some convincing._

The family got together late in the evening, after the sister-in-laws, the cousins and all the nieces and nephews had gone home and the McBride children were all safely tucked in and asleep in their beds. All four of the Glenanne brothers joined Michael and Fiona around the dining room table while in the family room Liam's long-time girlfriend, Jeannie, took up residence with Max the dog for company to stand guard over the children, leaving the rest of them free to act.

The party had been a grand success in Fiona's opinion and, despite his earlier reservations, in her husband's opinion as well. The children, his most especially, had been over the moon happy and even the adults had managed to enjoy themselves, despite what was going through the backs of their minds the whole time. But now that the Halloween celebration was over, it was time to get down to business.

Having cleared away all the plates, cups and leftovers, a large street map of Dublin was laid out on the heavy wooden table and Colin proceeded to explain to the rest of the family what he had discovered about the workings of the Dementer's criminal empire.

"Josef, his wife Madalena, an' six kids, all came over on tha first plane fram Otopeni ta Dublin after tha restrictions on tha free movement o' Romanian citizens wa' lifted within tha EU. Thot wa' at tha beginning o' 2014 an' in jus' under four years, they've managed ta build up quite an operation..."

The middle brother paused and took a sip from his mug of tea.

" _Officially,_ thar sole income comes fram a fortune telling business run outta o' a shop off Henry Street. Madalena has developed a big followin' as a psychic. She has customers comin' ta visit fram all over tha country jus' ta have har read tha cards fer tham. Dementer even pays tha taxes on har income. But it's also how they launder a lot o' tha cash fram thar other illegal enterprises..."

Liam nodded. The Glenannes accountant, a distant cousin on their father's side, employed a similar method to disguise the family's illegal incomes, but on a much larger scale. But the eldest was waiting for something more substantive on their adversaries before being persuaded that his brother-in-law's strategy was sound.

"Which leads us ta tha rest o' tha family: Josef works wit' an Uncle out in Romania. His job is ta entice teenagers and young women fram tha nearby villages an' towns ta travel ta Dublin wit' tha promise o' employment he's found for tham as nannies an' au pairs. He paints tham a picture o' high wages fer very little work an' mabbe tha chance o' catching a rich husband. Then once they arrive, Josef an' his boys take thar passports and do whotever they have ta ta turn 'em inta whores."

His oldest brother still stood with his arms folded over his chest and a grim expression on his face. The head of the family was making it plain that he remained unconvinced by McBride's plan to get rid of both Tyler Brennan and the thieves, whose actions were about to bring intelligence agencies from around the globe into their small part of the world, while Michael stood at the opposite side of the table chewing on his bottom lip. At least the eldest hadn't immediately shouted them down as he had done earlier.

" _Whot d' I think?" Liam had growled when_ _he had been given a rough outline of the proposed plan_ _before the evening festivities. "I think ya've spent taa much o' yar free time watchin' Bond films or is it Mission Impossible? Shoot em all, dump thar bodies out at sea an' be done wit' it."_

When nobody spoke, the family's communications expert coughed and pointed to another spot on the map. "Two o' Josef's nephews run tha girls outta o' brothel on Fitzwilliam Square. Tha Gardai have tried ta shut tham down at least a dozen times. But tha girls ar' taa scared ta give evidence. Besides another o' Josef's relatives tis a hot shot human rights lawyer an' he keeps comin' up wit' ways o' getting every prosecution thrown outta tha courts. So I think whotever _we_ do, tha cops willnae investigate taa closely."

"Is thot it?" Liam scoffed, clearly very unimpressed about what he had heard so far. "A psychic an' a bunch o' whores? How tha hell did they get away wit' stealin' secrets fram a Russian spy?"

"A series o' errors truly, twas a disgruntled close-ta-retirement GRU courier who thought it would be safe ta stop off ta see a girl instead o' completing his mission an' a young girl scared ta death o' tha old man layin' hands on har. Tha reports me friend Murph got his hands on say tha GRU agent had so many holes in ham, he wa' more like a colander than a man when he wa' discovered an' by then tha girl an' tha mystery man with har, who we now know ta be Elias Dementer, had disappeared inta tha night."

"We know Elias made it back ta Dublin on Wednesday, presumably wit' tha thumb drive. Do we have any idea whar tis bein' held?" Michael asked.

"I cannae help ya wit' thot. Me guess would be he'd keep it close. Mabbe once we get inside, we'll get lucky an' find it. What I can tell ya is thot tha old man has been rallying his troops. A lot o' his low ranking followers have been seen movin' inta tha houses he's taken over in Beaumont... But before ya and Liam interrupted, I had nae finished tellin' ya about tha rest o' Josef's operation... Tis not jus' women..."

Seamus and Sean had remained silent throughout, both men waiting to hear what else their brother had to say; although from the doubt in their eyes, they too thought McBride's plan was bound to fail.

"But he also trades in kiddies, some o' tham stolen fram other gypsy clans, others off tha streets in Bucharest. He has 'em smuggled in on boats outta Italy and when they get har, he uses tham ta thieve on tha streets o' Dublin, like a regular Fagin, and thar's word thot he's looking ta expand over ta Limerick an' maybe Belfast taa as more o' his family have moved over an' his lads are getting' older and ar' after some independence..."

Colin pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked about the room.

"Some o' these kids are younger than Claire and Sean-boy an' thar are rumors he's not _only_ sendin' tham out ta thieve, if ya take me meaning... I- I'd like ta think thot while wa're makin' sure nobody outs Mike as an American spy thot wa're also gonna do sommit about thot taa."

For several seconds, the room was silent and then Fiona shimmied as determinedly as her tight Morticia Adams costume would let her to his side. "O' course wa're goin' ta help those children, _aren't we,boys_?" Her eyes scanned the group facing her, daring any one of them to utter a word.

Michael swallowed and dropped his chin to his chest. He was happy living in the shadows, happier than he ever thought possible and the thought of exposing himself, and risking losing it all was weighing heavily on his heart. Sighing, he looked up into the eyes of the woman he loved and felt a tiny sliver of guilt for his disregard for the children who were being used by Josef Dementer.

As a former highly trained covert operative and the only brother-in-law in the family, Michael had a unique position within the Glenanne clan. Given his wide ranging skill set, he was considered an equal by Liam, something none of the other siblings could ever achieve because of birth order and generations of family politics; however, _that man_ was still the man in charge. Turning his gaze on to the eldest of the brothers, he found himself staring into Liam's pale blue eyes. Then the older man gave a barely perceivable nod.

With the head of the clan's tacit approval, Michael answered the question hanging in the air. "Of course, we'll do whot we can fer tham." He offered up a reassuring smile even though he had absolutely no idea how he was going make sure that happened.

"Good, thot's settled then." Liam declared with a slap of his hand on the table. "Nar perhaps ya'd like ta explain ta tha rest o' us exactly how ya intend ta trick a bunch o' gypsies inta handing over a valuable piece of electronics an' at tha same time take on a dangerous arms dealer fer us?"

 **()()()()()**

 _Dublin, Morning, Sunday 29 October 2017_

 _Family businesses are tough. They're even tougher for criminals. Mix normal family issues with cash, violence and the danger of getting arrested and things get tense._

It had been a bad morning for the Dementers. The seventy year old leader of the gypsy clan had been woken just after four AM with the news that there had been a fire at his wife's shop which had taken four fire engines to bring under control and now his presence was required by the incident team at the scene. Before he had even had time to finish getting dressed, his phone had rung for a second time. This time it was his youngest son, calling with more bad news.

Young Dimitri was in hospital under police guard. He had lost control of his car, smashing into a lamp post outside a busy bar. The boy had a broken wrist and a busted nose from the air bags deploying. But there was worse to come as Dimitri reverted to the Romani language to inform his father that the money and credit cards appropriated by the gang of pick pockets controlled by two of his older brothers had been discovered by the Gardai in the back of the wrecked car.

After reassuring his boy that by the time he was transferred to the police station the family solicitor would be waiting to bail him out, Josef had finished dressing before making his way out of the front door.

When he had finally reached _Madame Madalena's World Famous Psychic and Spiritual Centre,_ he had found the small narrow shop had been gutted. Anything that had survived the initial blast and the blazing fire which followed had been destroyed by the fire brigades powerful hoses dousing the building with water.

To add insult to injury, the fire investigator at the scene had already been dropping hints that his report was going to blame the explosion on an improperly stored gas canister, a decision which would cost the family dearly as any hint of negligence would make it even harder than usual for them to rent another shop front.

But that hadn't been the end of it. Just as he was leaving the scene came the last and most disturbing piece of news: two of his nephews were missing along with the nights takings from the brothel at Fitzwilliams Square.

Now, back at home, Josef sat at the dining room table watching as his beloved and much younger wife, Madalena, finished clearing away the remains of breakfast while he waited for the arrival of Nikolai, his hot headed younger brother and second in command who was leading the search for his missing sons.

"Niko says he has talked to the girls. They say Ivan and Petru left at the normal time and that he's had men search every inch of the park and they have found nothing, nothing except for the bodies of two dead crows. You know what that means, Josef? My shop, Dimitri's accident, _if_ it was an accident, and Ivan and Petru vanishing without a single clue… All these things are connected. It is an omen, Josef."

The old man pursed his lips as his listened to his wife's words of warning, his dark eyes narrowing in anger and frustration. He was about to complete the biggest deal of his entire life with a powerful American arms dealer. He didn't need old superstitions and fears being dragged out and causing panic.

"Crows die," he answered carelessly, sweeping aside the warning of death. "And the rest - _if_ there is somebody out to destroy what we have, then I will find them _and_ I will deal with them." He heard the sound of a car coming to a stop on the driveway, followed by the bang of a car door being slammed shut.

"Go and keep your old wives tales of ill fortune for your clients. I have important business to take care of."

Madalena left the kitchen as the front door was flung open and her brother-in-law, his face flushed with anger, brushed by her without a single word of greeting.

The Roma woman closed the living room door in an effort to shut out the noise of Nikolai's ranting.

" _I've questioned all the girls and the stupid bitches haven't been able to tell me anything I didn't already know. There was no trouble last night, no strangers hanging around. All I got from them was it was a regular night...This is impossible; people don't just disappear... Where is Dimitri? Why was he late?"_

Crossing the spotlessly clean space, she stopped before an ornately carved oak dresser and pulled open one of the drawers, reaching inside to bring out a red silk handkerchief which was wrapped about an ancient deck of tarot cards. These had been her grandmother's set, the great Anastasia Brancoveanu, whose skills of divination had been sought out by many from all over Eastern Europe and beyond.

Taking a seat, she unwrapped the cards and stroked a hand over the shiny surface before holding the deck between her palms and closing her eyes. Breathing deeply, she blocked out the sound of arguing coming from the room next door as she sought to answers to the problems weighing on her mind.

After shuffling the cards, she placed them on the coffee table before her and turned over the top card. Her husband might be prepared to throw away the old ways, but on this she refused to follow his lead.

"The King of Pentacles…" She smiled down at the card, barely flinching at the crash of something heavy hitting the adjoining wall. "Discipline…. Self-control…" More sounds of conflict reached her ears, but not even the loud clatter of plates being destroyed could interfere with her quest for answers.

"The Tower… upheaval… disaster…. change." The smile faded as her brow furrowed, another card joined the first two. "Ten of Swords…." This was not good. "Deceit and betrayal..."

" _My boys are lost, taken -"_

The next card landed face up revealing the Wheel of Fortune reversed.

" _While mine faces years in prison or in exile…."_

"More bad luck," she whispered. "This is not good, not good at all... But who? Who is behind this?"

Her slender hand adorned with several heavy gold rings hesitated over the deck. She had a gift, the same one which had graced both her mother and grandmother, not a supernatural power. That was just a tale they weaved for the ones who came seeking their advice. _No_ , Madalena knew her skill came from an innate ability to read people and then, using the cards as a guide, tell them what they needed to hear.

" _Grandpoppa! Grandpoppa! Sergei told me to come get you. There's a strange car on the street!"_

The breathless voice of her first born grandchild, her son Elias' daughter, calling out broke the spell and the Queen of the Clan stilled her trembling hand and took the card off the top stack before slowly turning it over to reveal the image of the Devil himself grinning back at her.

 **()()()()()**

 _Monkstown, Mid-morning, Sunday, 29 October 2017_

 _No matter how good your cover identity is, you've got to be able to sell it and that's not always easy. Sometimes you have to decide just how committed you are to pretending you are who you say you are._

Sitting on his padded leather chair in the middle of his office where two days earlier he had shown his wife exactly how much he missed her, Michael McBride did his best to keep still as Fiona, Sean's daughter Sian and Sian's personal stylist Debbie worked on changing him into their own version of the Devil's messenger.

" _I promised to let you have your way with me when it comes time to confront Josef. Isn't that good enough?"_ Closing his eyes, the former covert operative worked at slowing his breathing and silently reminded himself never again make promises to his spouse when he was distracted.

"Keep still, Uncle Mike. This bit is tricky if ya donnae stop yar fidgeting." He did his best to relax his hand as Sean's willowy blonde daughter continued to shape the false nails she had applied earlier during the makeover, which had been going on for the last two hours and have taken over his office space.

Michel remembered his beloved's pique over his throwing a striped scarf about his neck and declaring himself a Tom Baker version of The Doctor for the Halloween party. But Sean-boy had been satisfied and that had been good enough for him. So he supposed that sitting still while a team of professionals worked him over was not only for their mission, but also Fiona's way of getting her revenge. .

Just over twelve hours ago, they had been sitting side by side in the large white panel van, which the day before had been used to carry away two drug dealers from outside the gates of a Northern Irish high school, parked on one of the side streets close to Fitzwilliam Square providing back up for the penultimate act in the opening salvo of the bad luck campaign they were waging against the Roma gypsies led by Josef Dementer.

Fiona had been nibbling away on the contents of a family size pack Marmite flavored Twiglets, something he'd never been able to get used to the smell of, never mind the taste, despite seven years in Ireland and his wife knew that. Her anger regarding the actions of the nefarious gypsy clan who exploited naïve women and innocent children was only exceeded by her indignation at being used for tactical support. But then the former guerilla had always detested doing surveillance unless it was through a sniper's scope.

They hadn't actually been fighting, despite the tension filled atmosphere in the van. It was more like the last couple of days had been filled with trying to reconcile their difference approaches to strategy. His first mistake had been trying to abandon the family Halloween party and send their children to her mother's.

" _Ya want ta tell tham tha party is cancelled? Ya wanta break thar hearts? Michael, we promised tham; they've been looking forward ta tomorrow night fer weeks an' I fer one don't intend ta break me word!"_

In the end, he had capitulated on the Saturday night extravaganza. After all, he had reasoned, there was no need for them to begin their campaign until after the family get-together had ended. The streets would be a lot quieter and therefore there would be less chance of witnesses if they waited until the early hours of Sunday morning to begin the operation. Besides the formidable Maeve Glenanne had now taken up residence in their best guest room to keep an eye on the children along with Jeannie Donahue and both ladies had promised to look after the youngest members of the family until the emergency was over.

" _Ya dinnae have ta worry. We'll keep tha wee ones occupied. They wonnae even realize yer missing," Maeve had informed them before going up to bed. "I take it Claire and Sean will be attending Sunday School in tha morning? An' after thot, we'll take tham all ta tha zoo. Thot should give ya plenty o' time ta do whot ya have ta."_

However, as soon as they had achieved detente on the party, another difference of opinion had come up.

" _I know you want to be out there, Fi. Believe me, I do too…"_ Michael had gestured with a tilt of his head to the small park across the road where two of her brothers had been silently stalking two of the gypsy chieftain's nephews, who were allegedly providing "protection" for the women they were exploiting.

 _Target selection is one of the least glamorous, but most important elements in any strategy. You want to take out the people your opponent depends on: the ones his organization can't function without._

Sighing as she had continued to ignore him, the one-time covert operative had tried again. Smiling encouragingly, he'd pulled a remote detonator from his pocket and held it out to her. _"Here, I'll let ya do tha honors."_

" _Yer accent's slipping, Michael. Ya should work on thot."_ Ignoring the proffered gift, she had pulled another of the long brown stems from the pack and began to nibble her way down to her fingers.

" _Is that what's bothering you? The American accent? Fi, it's been seven years since I've spoken with anything but an Irish one. I need to practice before I do my part. We all agreed that Josef is nae – isn't going to completely buy my act. But if I can make him_ _suspect_ _it's some clever trick Brennan has cooked up to get a better deal -"_

" _It'll mean the gypsies will be ready fer a double cross and it'll only take a small spark ta cause tha fire fight we all wanta happen. Plus if anyone gets out alive, they will nae suspect an Irish connection ta thar troubles."_ She had finished his words for him and then gone back to staring straight ahead. _"They deserve a proper arse whippin' fer whot they've done. How many times did we see thot back in Miami?"_

" _Oh, I haven't forgotten, Fi."_ He had reached over and taken her free hand in his, memories of rescuing a roomful of Russian girls had flitted through his mind before he had consigned it back to the dim past. " _This time it's about protecting our family, you, Claire, Sean and Finn. Thot's all that matters ta me now._

" _Michael,"_ Liam's voice had come through the radio sitting on the dash board. _"We've got tham. Wa're_ _on tha north side o' tha park. Come an' get us."_

" _But for now, you can take consolation in the fact that these women will be free of the Dementers by Tuesday."_

A mischievous grin had formed as she'd leant over to plant a kiss on his lips. Wrinkling his nose in distaste at the beefy flavour, he'd sent his beloved a narrow eyed glare. Fiona had grinned as Michael had wiped his hand over his mouth and turned the key in the van's ignition before he'd handed her the detonator. It had been time to finish preparing the groundwork for Luis Cypher's first appearance in the gypsy camp planned for the next day. _If only he had known what he was getting himself into at that time._

"Yer a lucky man, Mr. McBride," the older woman spoke over her shoulder as her hands moved the clothing along the rail in her search for just the right cut of jacket, jerking Michael out of his reverie and back into the present. "Wit' yar height an' yar build, any one o' these will fit yar a treat... Sian, have ya thought about getting' yar uncle ta try a bit o' modeling?"

"Nooo," Michael answered for his niece. "I like me privacy ta much. One model in tha family is quite enough."

"Oh, I donnae, Michael, thar was a time when ya used ta like changing yar appearance," Fiona remarked as she ran her hands through the hair extensions that had brought his raven black hair down around his shoulders. "I swear thar wa' times when we war _datin_ ' thot I didnae know who I was gonna find waitin' fer me when I'd visited ya in thot loft ya called home."

Mr. McBride opened his eyes and lifted his free hand to capture his wife's hand in his. Stroking his thumb over her knuckles, he looked up into her blue green orbs. It had taken him some time to realize that the threat to their family had spooked both of them, allowing lots of old memories, old insecurities to come back to the surface.

"Ya know who I am, Fi. Right fram tha first, ya saw a side o' me nobody else ever has," he murmured softly before brushing his lips over the back of her hand.

"I know thot, Michael." She half-smiled, her gaze briefly lingering on the transformations they had made to her husband's appearance before remembering that they weren't alone.

A quick scan of the room told her that Debbie the stylist had finally made her choice of garments and had removed them from the rail, hanging them up on a hook on the back of the door. Her niece was sitting on the edge of the desk working the final touches to Michael's pinkie finger. A quick glance at her wrist watch reminded her that her brothers were going to be back soon after a morning spent checking out the enemy.

After Michael had helped Liam and Sean load Josef's two nephews into the van for their ride to Seamus' boatyard where their transportation to parts unknown awaited, Fiona had coordinated the final attack with Colin, who had been tailing the clan leader's son. Destroying the only legitimate business run by the matriarch of the Dementer famil y was sure to have their whole band on edge. Getting their youngest son and bag man arrested for dangerous driving and handling stolen property, with a little help from some C4 and a detonator wired into the gypsy's car, had been icing on the cake.

"Thar… is thot whot ya had in mind?" Sian straightened up, clearly pleased with the job she had done.

Michael raised his hand as they all stared at the false nails, each one filed to a neat point. "Well, it's not my normal style." He closed one hand into a fist and felt the sharpened ends of his fingers dig into his palm. _No, definitely not his normal style..._

"Good, cuz thot's tha whole idea." Before her niece could say any more, Fiona felt the alarm on her cell phone vibrate in her pocket, reminding her that her siblings would be returning soon to report on their early morning surveillance of the Dementer family and to go over the next stage of the plan.

Pursing her lips, the redhead turned her attention to the stylist who was now carefully packing away her supplies and specialized equipment. Sian had told the woman that her uncle was going to be attending a very important function that evening and needed an extra special costume for the event, pleading with her to assist in making his appearance truly scary. As they had already trusted the woman with Sian's true identity, it seemed reasonable that they could trust her to be discreet regarding Mr. McBride's makeover.

"Thank ye fer all yar help, Debbie. Ya ar' truly a miracle worker, is she nae, Michael?"

"Yes, a miracle worker." The ex-spy smiled agreeably as his wife ushered the pair out of the office.

"Now, remember, girls, we have to keep this amongst ourselves. Sian, yar daddy is going ta be back soon an' I know he wants ta have a word wit' ya. So, after yar take Debbie home, ya come straight back har."

"Sure, Aunty Fi, not a problem," the willowy blonde answered as she took hold of the clothes rack, pushing it across the hallway towards the front door while her make-up artist wheeled out her large bags.

"Now, make sure ya donnae get yar hands or face wet until thot tan has had time ta develop an' I've left tha beard in a case on tha desk along wit' tha glue ya'll need ta keep it in place," Debbie explained in a rush, pausing and half turning the doorway to finish her last minute instructions. "I wonnae tell a soul."

"Thank ya, Debbie, tis our little secret. I'll make sure he does it right. Ya've really been a life saver."

Michael got up from the chair and followed the women out into the hall way. He had spent the last two and half hours sat in a chair while the trio had come at him from all angles and it was now time to check out exactly what they had done to him.

Stopping in front of a large wall mirror, he stared at his reflection. His hair was combed back off his face and, thanks to the extensions, now reached down to his shoulders. The strands of grey which had begun to develop over the last year were gone and the scars under his left eye and on his forehead had been cleverly concealed with make-up and covered over by an impressive spray tan, giving him a ruddy complexion.

Carefully running his hand over his cheeks, he nodded thoughtfully. Times had definitely changed from back in the day when a suit, slicked back hair and a new accent along with the ability to cause explosions at the snap of his fingers had been all he had needed to convince a small time gang banger to help him out. Two and a half hours spent sitting in a chair while a professional make-up artist used the tricks of the trade and some amber-colored contacts, while irritating, had made Luis Cypher frightening real.

Though he had been a little concerned with what his wife had planned for him, especially when the reinforcements had arrived and he had been ordered to sit down and not ask questions, he had to admit it had been worth it in the end. Once he glued the beard and moustache in place and the tanning lotion they had applied had time to develop fully, he was going to be unrecognizable.

"So, did we do a good job?" Fiona wrapped her arms about her husband's waist and rested her chin on his shoulder as she came back to his side.

Twisting his head round, he managed to place a light peck to his wife's lips. "Incredible, _I_ hardly recognize me." With his niece and Debbie gone and the house to themselves, Michael reverted back to practicing his native accent. After seven years, he was still having problems ironing out the lilt from his speech.

"Thot's tha whole idea, Michael," she spoke directly into his ear, her breath tickling his neck and then he felt one of her hands drift lower. "Ya should get changed inta tha suit Debbie picked out fer ya. I could help ya wit' thot."

The feel of her fingers brushing over the front of his jeans, her thumb teasingly playing with the button on his waistband was undoubtedly very tempting and Michael McBride, her Irish lover and carefree father of three, would have certainly taken the opportunity for some _reconnecting_. But right now, hours away from putting on a performance to save his family's life, Michael _Westen_ was in charge.

"Fi…" He took hold of her wrist and moved her hand away, then turned to face her. "As much as I would love ta, we cannae-" The former American caught himself. "I have a job to do. I have to do what-"

"Ya donnae have ta explain, Michael. I understand," she answered softly, her voice laced with sadness. "It's just like tha old days, is it nae? Ya become who ya need ta be ta get tha job done."

"Fi?" he queried. "What's wrong? After all this time, surely you donnae—don't doubt me, _doubt us?_ "

She ran her palm down the front of his T-shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart underneath the navy blue cotton. "It's jus' been – I thought we war past all this. It's been seven years now, Michael. I wanted…"

"I know, I know," He drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. "It'll be over soon, I promise."

They held each other close, taking comfort in one another's embrace. The man who had once been known as an _upstoppable sonuvabitch_ swore that the silver haired threat to his family from their past and Tyler Brennan's superstitious cohorts would all soon find themselves at odds with the devil himself.

 **()()()()()**

 _Beaumont, Evening, 29 October, 2017_

A long black shiny limousine with darkened windows weaved its way along the leafy suburban streets of Beaumont. Inside on the plush leather back seat, Michael McBride sat preparing himself for the most important mission of his life.

Thanks to his brother-in-laws efforts during the day, the former spy knew exactly what he was going to be facing when he arrived at the Dementer stronghold. Running his tongue over dried lips, Michael forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand and not on the three small defenseless children who were tucked up in their beds with no knowledge of the danger creeping closer to them.

 _In intelligence work, surveillance is called coverage. It's like basketball: you can run zone defense or man to man. Man to man's risky. Follow someone too long, they're going to get suspicious. Zone is usually the way to go. Stay put and let targets come to you; less obvious, easier on the feet, and you can catch up on the racing news._

" _They've got themselves a sorta enclave,"_ Liam had explained the layout of the gypsies' compound at the meeting earlier in the afternoon. _"It looked ta me like they've taken up a whole cul-de-sac, probably pushed tha original families out wit a bit o' fear an' intimidation, so they could move in more o' thar own."_

Michael had admired the tactical advantages the Dementers had provided themselves with their housing.

" _Thar's been a few kids playin' out in tha street fram first daylight and a lotta soldiers comin' an' goin' or just standin' around tha entrance. Tha women I'm guessin' are fer tha most part stayin' inside. Altogether I'd say yer lookin' at maybe thirty o' them ar' thar at any one time... So wa're not gonna be able ta sneak in wit'out a bloody big distraction ta keep tham all busy."_

" _I'm the distraction, Liam. If everything goes off as it should, everybody will be busy watching me,"_ he'd answered before moving onto a more pressing problem. _"D'ya test their defenses like I asked?"_

" _Aye, I paid a young lad wit' no connection ta us or tha cause ta rattle thar cage. He drove past tha street maybe a half dozen times revvin' tha guts outta a stolen car, hangin' outta tha window an' shoutin abuse... Everybody not carrying a weapon disappeared inta tha this house."_ He placed a finger over a spot on the diagram he had drawn of the street. _"They came outta all tha other houses like rats leaving a sinkin' ship... I'll say this fer tha old fella, he has 'em well trained."_

" _So, it'll all be on ya, Mikey boy,"_ Seamus had smirked. _"Ye an' thot fancy disguise yer wearin'. I jus' hope they donnae decide ta burn ya at the stake befer ya have a chance ta open yar mouth."_

Michael ran one hand down the front of his bright red silk shirt, feeling the lines of the ultra-lightweight bullet proof vest he was wearing underneath. Both Fiona and Liam had insisted he wore the exceptionally light and flexible vest, his wife and brother-in-law fiercely reminding him that he had a responsibility to still be in one piece at the end of his self-appointed mission. He'd actually been quite touched at his adopted family's concern for his welfare.

" _Just in case I make it as far as having a conversation, did you manage to find a decent sniper perch?"_ he'd asked wanting to keep everybody focused on the mission.

" _It took me a wee bit,"_ Sean had answered. The youngest of the brothers had stepped up to the table, shoving Liam's diagram out of the way and pointing to the main map Colin had laid out the day before. " _But aye, I have, tis on top o' a high-rise office block. Thar place is empty over tha weekend wit' minimum security. Only thing is, tis a good half a mile away, so if tha wind picks up... I'm sorry, Shay..." He glanced at the second eldest of the siblings. "It's gonna have ta be me an' Fi up thar, she's tha better shot._ "

" _Ya cheeky lil beggar..."_ Seamus had taken a swipe at the younger man, but had been cut off before he could say anymore.

" _I need Fiona with Liam and Colin. She's the only one who's done this before, Sean. Seamus will manage. He's nearly as good with a gun,"_ Michael had reminded them.

The former spy had understood why Sean was calling for a change in personnel. Seamus was actually more of a jack of all weapons. As a gunrunner, he was well versed in the use of all types of fire arms. However, he had never bothered to sharpen his skills to the same level as his younger siblings and it was true having the best snipers in position was not only essential for back-up if things went wrong, but more importantly as an aid in convincing the gypsies they really were in the presence of a supernatural being.

But while Fiona was by far the best marksman or woman as it were, she was also the stealthiest and, after years in Miami working with him and Sam Axe, she had also picked up a lot of skills that her brothers lacked. He needed her coordinating the action inside the Dementer's compound.

" _I can do it. Am nearly as good a shot as Sean an' thar's still time ta get some practice in befer tha main event. Let's stick wit' tha plan, brother."_ Seamus had turned to the head of the family, urging his older brother before the head of the family could make a final decision.

" _Fine,"_ Liam had groused, settling the matter _. "Have it yar way, McBride. But while Shay's working on his shooting, ya should be workin' on yar accent, laddie. After all these years, it's still a bit dodgy."_

"Uncle Mike, thot's tha building… Me da and Uncle Sean are on tha roof," Seamus's eldest boy, Patrick, who had been brought in as a driver, pointed out the tallest building in Beaumont as they drove past.

"You've heard from them?" Michael leaned forward and craned his neck so he could study the strangely out of place glass and steel structure rising up in the air amongst the smaller brick and stone buildings of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

"Aye, thar already in position." The dark haired youth self-consciously touched his right ear, still unused to wearing an ear piece to keep him updated with the rest of the team.

"What about the others?" They were all wearing the communication devices, bar the ex-operative who had decided it would too risky. The Dementers had after all managed to stay one step ahead of the police for four years, so it was a good bet they knew to look out for ear pieces or other equipment used by the authorities.

"Thar waiting in tha back garden o' one o' tha houses thot back onta tha Dementer's place... Am ta give them tha go when ya get outta tha car."

"You know what you've got to do?" his uncle questioned.

The youth took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "When ya get out, Am ta lock tha doors an' if things go arse up, Am ta wind down me window an' use this-" He gestured to the sawn off shot gun lying in the passenger foot well. "An' if ye cannae make it back ta me, Am ta leave ya an' get tha feck outta tha way."

Michael nodded his head. He knew the boy had been hoping for more of a role in what was to come, but if the gypsies didn't buy his act and decided to attack the last thing he needed was an inexperienced youth getting in his way.

"If anything goes wrong, I can get myself out of there a lot faster if I don't have to worry about anybody else, Pat. It's nothing personal."

"Sure, an' if it wa' Auntie Fi behind tha wheel, ya would expect har ta leave ya behind taa?" the youth grumbled.

"I would... I'd trust she would do what was right for the family." Michael smiled at the young man's displeasure, silently thinking to himself that wanting to be in the thick of all the action regardless of the danger had to be a trait hard-wired into all the Glenannes.

He had a sudden flashback of watching the twins taking part in a pony club polo match, charging from one end of the pitch to the other at a flat out gallop without a single thought for their own safety or their parents' blood pressure as they tried to whack a small ball past the goal posts of the opposing team.

Then mingling in with the recent memory was one from his own dark past, at thirteen behind the wheel of a stolen car racing through Miami back streets, trying to lose the police officers giving chase before bailing out after crashing the vehicle into street light when he'd missed a turn.

A few minutes later, the long sleek car was winding its way up to the entrance of Birch Mount Way and the home base of the Dementer family. Putting aside thoughts of his own reckless past, Michael leaned forward and touched his nephew on the shoulder. "Pat, put your head gear on."

The youth slowed the car and placed an oxygen mask over his face, dialling open the gauge on top of the small dive tank laying on the passenger seat. Meanwhile, in the back of the vehicle, Michael leaned down to pick up a small canister which had been resting between his feet.

 _In an army, a chain of command gets activated by unusual events. Tanks amassing on a border, a hacking attack on a central computer, assassinations of key personnel. A criminal gang's chain of command is no different. A stranger showing up after the kidnapping of high ranking members and the destruction of valuable property will get the message sent up the ladder._

For the second time in a day, the young men hanging out by the entrance to the cul-de-sac sounded the alarm which sent the women and children running inside the smallest of the eight houses, into what was effectively an armed compound, and brought the head of the clan out of his front door to find out what was the cause of the latest commotion.

"Nikolai with me," Josef barked out as he strode purposefully towards the crowd, which was gathering around a large black limousine. "The rest of you get out of my way. Get to your positions now." He turned his head from side to side scanning the main road looking for danger as his subordinates warily moved away from the vehicle.

The whole family had been on edge ever since the events of the early hours of the morning. The fire and then Dimitri's accident and subsequent arrest had given the Gardai all the excuse they needed to start an investigation into the family's various businesses and then there was his own wife's words of warning, spreading fear amongst the clans more superstitious members.

Thankfully, they had managed to keep the news of the disappearance of Ivan and Petru from the authorities, though the fact the two men had vanished in to thin air was causing disquiet amongst the lower ranks of his organization.

The old man narrowed his eyes trying to see inside the funeral black vehicle, but the darken glass meant he was only greeted by his own scowling countenance staring back at him. His fingers curled into fists and just for a second he thought about pounding on the glass. But then as suddenly as his anger rose up, he forced it down and with an angry curse took a step back.

"Nikolai, Dragon, drag the _fecior de curva_ out to face me." Whoever it was sitting inside that fancy limousine had picked the wrong time to come around playing games.

Nikolai and Josef's second born son Dragon drew their hand guns, pointing their weapons at the side of the stationary vehicle preparing to open fire when the rear door suddenly swung open releasing a creeping cloud of fog which swirled about the feet of the man who stepped out on to the road.

"Oh, doamne!"

"Ce Dracu!" The two men pointing their guns fell back several paces as the smartly dressed figure lifted his chin and stared directly at them though glowing yellowy orange eyes.

"I'm looking for Josef Grigore Dementer." Michael slowly turned his head, letting his gaze fall upon the man in question.

"And who are you supposed to be?" The head of clan snorted derisively, looking the stranger up and down with an eye well used to spotting the signs of a confidence trick. It would take more than a smart suit and some clever special effects to fool the wily old gypsy. "Most people had their Halloween parties last night. You'll have to wait until next year, Mr. -?"

"You can call me Luis." Michael stared back, keeping his expression cold and blank. The faux devil could see that even though Josef wasn't buying his appearance, several of his entourage were at least a little bit spooked. "And what I want is to talk to you about a serious mistake you're about to make."

"You're crazy," Josef shook his head and chuckled darkly. "You come here thinking you can frighten us with a few cheap theatrics? We are _Roma_ , not children. It is _you_ who has made the mistake."

Michael raised his right hand, using two fingers to point at the row of cars parked outside the first two houses along the cul-de-sac. Then once he was sure Josef was watching, he made a gesture as if firing an imaginary gun.

A second later everybody except the tall dark haired man was ducking for cover and frantically looking around as the wind shield on the first car shattered, followed by the second ones side windows, sending glass into the street.

Michael raised his hand a second time and pointed towards the younger of the two armed men, as Josef's second born son aimed his gun at the stranger. Dragon Dementer fell backwards, cracking his head on the hard surface of the road, his Walther CCP leaving his hand and skittering across the tarmac surface.

"Enough!" Shocked to his core, Josef stepped in front of his fallen son and held up his hands. "Enough!"

The ex-spy slowly scanned the rest of the group, searching for any signs of resistance. He knew that over a half a mile away, both Seamus and Sean would be doing the same thing through the scopes of their suppressed sniper rifles, ready to make any of the gathered men think twice about starting a fight.

However, a show of force wasn't the objective of _this_ visit. For his plan to work, Michael needed the gypsies to be at least wary about the stranger who had stepped into their midst, whether they believed he was the devil himself or not _. Of course, that would be the preferable assumption_.

"Alright, I'm listening. What is it you want to talk about?" the patriarch demanded.

Finally satisfied that Josef's men were going to follow their leader's orders, Michael turned his attention back to the older man, staring into Josef's worried dark brown eyes.

"You have taken something that doesn't belong to you and you are planning to sell it for a large profit... Your son Elias has -"

"It was _you_!" Josef snarled. "You destroyed my wife's shop, kidnapped my nephews..."

" _YOU BASTARD!_ You give me back my boys!" Nikolai ran forward. But before Michael had to take matters into his own hands, Josef grabbed his younger sibling around the neck and kept him at bay.

"Quiet, let me deal with this." He hissed in his brother's ear, before looking up and speaking to the tall dark stranger. "You may have fancy tricks, but you are still flesh and blood and believe me, I know how to make you bleed. Now, if you want to leave here alive, you will tell me what you have done to Petru and Ivan!"

"Touch me and your whole world will come apart." Michael's features hardened as he took a menacing step forward. "I don't mean just your wife's fortune telling business or your son going to jail... You want to ever see your nephews again? Then you'll heed this warning... The device your son Elias has stolen is dangerous, too dangerous for you. The longer it remains in your possession, the more misfortune will come your way."

He paused and then took another step so he could speak directly into the older man's ear. "You think you know who I am? You think you know what this is about, what I can do to you? _You have no idea_. Satan is waiting for your eternal soul, Josef Dementer. However, _I_ want you to think about this... Is this worth the remainder of your life or your nephews' lives? Is selling what you've stolen worth risking everything you have built here?"

Michael backed away and then, in a dramatic gesture, raised his right hand. Without an ear piece, he had no way of knowing for sure that Fiona had completed her first task upon entering the Dementer's compound. He could only act on faith. "Is it worth risking the safety of all you hold dear?"

A snap of his fingers triggered the sight of Josef's prized Lexus RX rising several feet into the air and crashing back down to the ground in flames. With all eyes on the burning wreckage, the _devil's emissary_ retreated back to his waiting ride and slipped inside.

"That's our cue to get moving." Michael flashed his nephew a toothy grin and twisted about to keep watch out of the rear window as Patrick began to drive quickly away.

"Me da told me ya war a holy menace fer blowing things up. But feck, thot wa' a seventy thousand Euro car ya just killed, Uncle Mike."

"Your Auntie Fiona blew it up," his uncle corrected the youth with a smile. "A directional charge, low on noise and with just enough power to make a statement without leaving a crater on Josef's drive... Now let's get out of here before they decide to come after us." He relaxed on the long back seat as the limousine picked up speed. _The message had been delivered and he was alive to fight another day_.

 **()()()()()**

Back at home Fiona was waiting impatiently for the return of her husband. Sean had confirmed the limousine with her beloved inside had gotten away clean after her little pyrotechnic display had done its job of distracting the gypsy mob. Thanks to the bugs she had placed inside the head of the clan's home, Mrs. McBride had heard for herself the confusion, anger and fear in the voices of the Josef's inner circle when they had gathered for a war council.

Everything was going according to plan, but none of that mattered to the auburn haired former paramilitary and mother of three as she continued to pace around the ground floor of her large Regency-styled mansion because Michael should have been back home twenty minutes ago.

After climbing over the seven foot high fence into Josef's back garden, it had taken Fiona less than two minutes to plant the directional charge under the fancy saloon car parked on the driveway and then another five minutes to hard wire two listening devices into power sockets in the kitchen and living room, while Colin planted a keystroke logging program in the only computer he could find in the house.

" _Isn't it refreshing when ya live in a community whar ya can leave ya doors unlocked?"_ she'd quipped when she had knelt down to pick the kitchen door lock, only to find her skills were unnecessary as it was only held shut by the latch.

" _Thot's because nobody except fer us is stupid enough ta come over uninvited,"_ Liam had answered as he'd taken the lead to swiftly sweep the house for anyone who had stayed behind.

They had worked so fast that they were already back over the fence and sitting in the large white panel van they had left two streets away when Sean's voice had come through her ear piece letting her know Luis Cypher was ready to take his leave.

After she had used the remote detonator to great effect, the explosion being loud enough to bring people out of their houses even two streets away from the source of the noise, her eldest brother had been adamant that they left the scene immediately just in case one of the concerned locals decided to risk the wrath of the large criminal family living in their midst and put a call through to the Gardai.

" _I thought ya never worried_?" Liam had teased before handing her the radio receiver. _"Har, ya can listen in wit' this an' let us know if they come up wit' a plan."_

So for the half an hour it had taken for them to drive back to her home, Fiona had eavesdropped on Josef, as the self-styled king had issued orders and done his best to keep Nikolai, who seemed to be a bit of a hothead, from tearing the streets apart looking for a yellow-eyed demon.

" _It was nothing but a costume... You think he goes about day to day looking like that? You're a fool, Nikolai... You heard him. He wants what we have. He'll be back and next time we'll be ready for his tricks."_

Max the elderly Belgium Shepherd was on his feet, a low growl coming from between his curled back lips as he stalked along the hallway when the heavy steel reinforced oak front door swung open. Then, with a wag of his tail and a soft woof, the family guard dog trotted over to greet the master of the house with lick to his hand.

"Michael..." Fiona rushed forward, forgetting about the gypsy family in her relief for her husband's safe return. "Yer late... Whot kept ya?" She ran her palms down the front of his shirt, doing her own visual check for injuries.

"Sorry, that explosion of yours brought out the Gard. We had to dodge a couple of roadblocks." He smiled down at her, his fingers combing gently through her long auburn hair. "So, where is everybody?"

He knew Sean and Seamus were both going back to their own homes once his visit to the Dementers was over, but he'd expected to find Liam and Colin waiting up for his return. If there was one thing he had learned over years he had worked with Liam Glenanne, it was that the PIRAs foremost interrogation specialist was usually as much a stickler for debriefing after an operation as any CIA case officer.

"I sent tham ta bed," she explained quickly. "Josef has his merry band out looking fer ya, but as they have nae a clue who ya ar' an' it took tham fifteen minutes ta regroup after my brilliantly executed diversion, thar's no danger o' them finding us. Which means thar's nothing left fer any o' us ta do until tomorrow except rest up."

The weary former spy yawned and went to rub his eyes before remembering the yellow contacts he was wearing. "Resting up sounds like a good idea, it's been a long day."

"Thot' just whot I was thinking, Mr. Luis Cy-pher." Fiona lightly kissed her husband's whiskery chin and then, standing on tiptoes with her arms around his neck, reached up to capture his lips in a deep searing kiss. He was back and in one piece, so she was willing to forget his tardiness at returning home.

"Ya know, I'd almost forgotten whot a thrill it was ta take on a coupla real bastids like Josef an' Brennan." She breathed into his ear before returning her lips to his in another bruising kiss.

It had only been when Seamus had arrived with a half brick of C4 that it had struck Fiona how long it had been since she had last had the opportunity to feel the soft putty-like plastic explosive in her hands or the thrill of facing a truly deadly foe. It was a sign of how far they had come over the last seven years and how much Ireland had changed since she'd last set foot in her homeland.

But her heart fluttered in her chest as the adrenaline lingering in her blood sent a wave of warmth through her body, reminding her of the recent danger and of what was still to come.

"Michael, d'ya remember when we used ta rush home after a job, all hot an' steamy, even if it wa' tha middle of winter, we couldnae wait ta rip tha clothes off each other's backs?"

"Aye, I remember," he agreed with a warm smile. But then it faded and his expression turned serious. "But tomorrow is going to start early and be a long day."

Silently cursing the resurrection of the super spy Michael Westen, Fiona placed her hand over his mouth, stilling his words of rejection before they could ruin the whole evening. Even hidden behind the reflective glow of the amber contacts, she knew his baby blues were now gazing back at her full of regret. Slowly her hand slipped from his mouth, her fingers trailing down over his bottom lip.

"Fi, it's not that I don't want to," Michael reassured her with a heartfelt sigh. "But until this is over, I need to concentrate... I mean, we haven't found out where Elias is or where they are storing the thumb drive."

"Josef mentioned Elias is stayin' in a warehouse next ta a Dublin boatyard, which Seamus and Sean are going ta check on before going home -"

"Maybe I should go down there," he murmured, already pulling away and thinking of the possibilities if Luis Cypher were to put in another appearance, when Mrs. McBride took matters in to her hands.

"Ya cannae do everything yarself, Michael... Thot bastid Brennan arrives tomorrow. Ya said it yarself thot ya need ta rest."

Michael lowered his gaze to stare down at his feet. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right.

If all went as he expected, Josef would spend the night thinking about the mysterious stranger with seemingly supernatural powers and by the morning the wily gypsy would hopefully begin to think about how many people knew he had something value to sell and who it would benefit most if he was desperate to get rid of his prize. Ensuring that his foes turned against one another was the true mission here.

"You're right," the ex-operative grudgingly admitted.

"I usually am," Fiona smirked. "Why don't ya go get ready fer bed while I let Max out and then secure tha house?"

Her husband hesitated. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Michael?"

"You said it yourself, Fiona," he countered, turning her earlier words back on the Irishwoman. "Brennan's going to be here tomorrow. I need to look exactly the same as I did today. I can't take a chance on messing up the spray tan and plus I don't want to have Debbie come back to redo these extensions."

This wasn't what she had wanted to hear, though she understood his reasoning.

Fiona bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes narrowing as she looked her husband up and down. But instead of fighting with him, she nodded sadly. "Fine, if ya want ta sleep on thot uncomfortable reclinin' chair instead o' wrapped up snug an' warm under a Hungarian goose down duvet on a king size memory foam mattress, I cannae stop ya afterall."

She shrugged and turned away. "Go get yarself washed up an' after I've locked up, I'll bring ya a pillow and a blanket."

"Thank ya, Fi," he muttered softly and drew her back into his arms for another kiss. "Besides, I donnae want ta take tha chance o' frightening tham. They'd have nightmares fer years after. I'll lock tha door and stay out o' tha way until the kids have gone ta school an' yar mam has taken Finn out fer tha day."

Her smile over hearing Michael McBride's lilt coming from Luis Cypher's mouth was genuine as the redhead nodded her ascent and when to lock down their home for the night.

After making sure Max went outside for a few minutes and that the twin's pet cats were both inside, Fiona moved swiftly from room to room, checking that all the windows were locked and the lights were out before returning to the kitchen and the state of the art alarm system which guarded the family overnight. With Michael sleeping downstairs, she switched off the motion sensors and then, once Max was curled up in his bed, armed the alarms on all the windows and exterior doors.

With one final look about the kitchen, she switched off the light and made her way upstairs, checking first on Sean and then Claire before quietly creeping into the nursery to make sure Finn was still covered by her favorite "In The Night Garden" blanket and had her Upsy-Daisy doll close by.

Looking down at the infant, Fiona couldn't resist gently running her fingers over the sleeping child's unruly brown/black hair and then resting the palm of her hand lightly on her baby girl's back, the rise and fall of each tiny breath soothing the petite red head's turbulent emotions.

 _For a spy, the worst thing that can happen is to become someone else's asset. You do anything you can to avoid it, making sure there's nothing people can grab on to and use as leverage. You move through life unattached, keeping the world at a distance. It's a hard way to live but there is a cold logic to it. Love_ _nothing and nothing you love can be used against you. Once you violate that rule and make that connection with someone, you've handed your enemies the key to destroying you_

She knew she was being foolish, but the proximity of the ruthless Tyler Brennan and the reappearance of Michael Westen, through accent and actions, had sparked all of Fiona's old anxieties. But she knew her husband wasn't the stone cold spy of old, refusing to commit to her or acknowledge his feelings for her. _Michael McBride was fighting for her and their family. He was doing what he needed to do for them._

She bit her lip again, wondering if she could satisfy her need for intimacy with him without undoing his cover unnecessarily. He was right, she now grudgingly admitted. Josef needed to suspect a professional con or a supernatural presence or both and to do that the image of Luis had to be exactly the same.

 **()()()()()**

Left on his own, Michael wasted no time in removing the yellow contact lens and washing out his eyes with some saline. Staring at himself in the mirror in the downstairs bathroom, he grimaced at the almost orange tan and wondered how long it would take to fade to a more acceptable color.

"I'm going to have to tell everyone I've been out in Africa or the Middle East," he groused to himself. He very carefully removed the beard and moustache, wincing as the glue stuck to the stubble on his own face and then cursing as he gouged himself with the unaccustomed pointed nails. Trying to brush his teeth proved a bit of a challenge as well, but he accomplished the task and felt better for it.

Back in his office, he was surprised to find Fiona sitting on the edge of his desk with her slender legs idly swinging back and forth already waiting for him.

"That was quick." He swallowed as she rose up and slowly walked over, reaching round him to push the thick wooden door closed.

"Max wa' eager ta come back inta tha warm an' our children fer once had all managed ta stay under thar covers. Har, let me help ya get more comfortable." Her hands, which had begun to run lightly up and down his arms, suddenly gripped the expensive material and swiftly tugged his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms.

Leaving him to untangle his limbs, the red haired siren turned her attention to the crimson silk neck tie, loosening it with several not so gentle jerks before, in a rapid change of approach, carefully removing it, taking care not to add to the soreness of his abraded face or catch the long raven locks that settled about his shoulders.

"Thot's better, is it not?" his wife purred softly into his ear.

As her fingers closed over his own, Michael continued to unbutton his shirt, fearing what might happen to the finest Chinese silk if he left his beloved to the task. But the former operative was soon frustrated again by the state of Luis Cypher's fingernails.

"Achhh, yar buttons are safe fram me this night." Fiona brushed his hands aside to take care of the tiny oyster shell fastenings. "It takes a wee bit o' practice ta get this done wit' a proper manicure, ya know."

"You're a talented woman, Mrs. McBride," Michael murmured, letting his lips brush against her cheek.

"Am glad ta hear ya still appreciate me skills after all these years, Mr. McBride," she countered and helped him to lift the light-weight body armor off his frame, her thumbs quite deliberately scrapping over his nipples through the tight cotton T underneath. He stifled the moan, knowing that he was having enough trouble controlling himself as it was.

"I brought ya some fresh undergarments ta put on in tha morning," the auburn haired temptress added, pulling the T-shirt carefully over his head, so as not to disturb his hair or make-up once again. As the white apparel hit the floor, Fiona began kissing his collar bone while rubbing her hands over his bare back.

"Yer taa tense, Michael," she whispered. "Ya need ta relax if yer gonna get any sleep." She nipped and kissed her way along his collar bone and across his broad chest while her fingers kneaded the knotted muscles of his upper back to smoothness.

This time Michael couldn't keep the groan inside as her tongue slipped across the hardened nubs and she grinned up at him. "Ya see, I dinnae disturb yar cover at all."

"Maybe not my cover, but definitely my composure," he confessed with a chuckle.

Giving the left one a light nip and causing him to squeak, she straightened before dropping her hands to his belt. Faster than he thought possible, the dark haired man soon found himself standing about in his underwear and socks while Luis Cypher's fancy suit and Kevlar vest made their way onto a hanger.

"Thar," she declared, satisfied that everything was right where it needed to be. Fiona backed Michael towards the chair that she had laid the pillow and blanket upon. "All I need ta do is kiss ya good night."

"I think I'll take that blanket now. It'll be a bit chilly in here once you leave."

"Ar' ya sure ya want me ta go?" Fiona pouted. She breathed out a melancholy sigh before a small sparkle shone in her eyes. "Ah could stay an' keep you warm, sugar," she offered, as the honeyed tones of her favorite Southern drawl dripped from her tongue. Michael wasn't the only one who could work an American accent, even if she wasn't born there. "It gits _downright_ chilly in these here parts this time a year. Already socks and sex weather I do believe it's called. I don' wanna see ya catch cold now."

The former operative laughed and started to reach for her when several things happened at once: he felt a small slender hand snatch hold of the waistband of his boxers while at the same time a dainty foot hooked behind his ankles, knocking him off balance. In less than a second he was sprawled in the chair nearly naked save for his socks.

"Thar, that'll keep ya all warmed and toasty while Ah tuck ya in." His fiery wife smiled sweetly and then, without further warning, launched herself onto his lap.

"Fi, I—"

"Shhhhh, Michael, ain't Ah done told ya, sweet thing, ya need to relax? Trust me, darlin', this here will help." She kissed him lightly on the lips, mashing the controls to the recliner with her knee and lying him down prone along with the chair.

Moving to the uncolored parts of his exposed throat, she nibbled her way around to his shoulder. "Don' ya fret now about a thing, ya hear? Ya know that Ah'd purely love to have muh way wit' Mr. Luis Cypher, as sure as shootin' cuz ya know how us naughty girls love the bad boys."

She reached back and skimmed a skilled hand over his rapidly enlarging length. "But Ah promise I won' be messin' up that lil ol' paint job a yars. Besides, I reckon I owe ya one after muh brother done made me leave ya all hot an' bothered the other day." She lowered her body onto his, carefully balancing so as not to topple themselves or the chair over.

Her lover felt a long shiver run through his frame as the textures of her clothing rubbed along his naked flesh. Being exposed, vulnerable like this while she remained dressed, was something that happened rarely in their love making. But giving up control to her in this way in this one particular instance was a huge aphrodisiac.

Her lips went from his throat, to his ear and then down his chest in a hundred gossamer soft butterfly kisses trailing down his body over his abdominals and lower still, while her fingers rubbed and scraped there way over his arms and sides as she took possession of her man.

"Don' worry none, sugar," she cooed as the tremors went through him. "It's a well known scientific fact by all them smart doctor fellas thot ya git off more when yar feet be warm."

Michael let loose a light laugh which morphed into a long moan as he squirmed under his wife's ministrations. The dark haired faux devil cupped her face in his hands, his claw like fingernails tangling in her long auburn mane in an effort to lift it out of the way so he could watch as her warm wet lips enclosed the swollen head of his manhood.

"God, Fiona... oh, Jayzuz!" he gasped as after one tender kiss she released him only to run her tongue all the way down the underside and back up before she looked him in the eyes.

"Oh, no, sweet thing, ya'll be keepin' that pretty lil mouth of yars shut now. Talkin' is ag'inst the rules."

His member twitched at the loss of contact and at the memories of what had transpired the last time Fiona had paraded her Georgia Peach persona complete with her law book and black leather into the bedroom as well. The redhead's fingers then went to her hair, carefully untangling his cruelly sharp nails from her tousled locks.

"An' I don' reckon ya'd care to be redoing yar nails in tha morning either, so rule number two." She eased his hands down onto the arm rests of the chair. "Those paws a yars are gonna stay right thar, darlin'... Don' make me punish ya. Ya know whud happens when ya git Mama all fired up." Fiona tweaked his nipples sharply, pulling a startled gasp from her husband.

The Southern siren dipped her head and then blew softly up and down his rock hard erection. "Nary a sound, muh big strong man. I surely wouldn't wanta have ta hurt yar two best friends." She ghosted kisses over his balls and in that instant he nearly came undone, arching his back and biting down on his tongue.

"Good boy, Michael... And now here's yar reward fer behavin' so good." She took him all the way down until she could feel him at the back of her throat and then incredibly slowly began to bob her head as her powerful lover writhed underneath her.

His mind was whiting out, his fists tightly gripping the end of arm rest and every muscle in his body trembled… _oh, how he was going to repay his red headed vixen for this divine torture… He was going to lay her out and make her scream for mercy as he pushed his tongue so far..._

Michael could no longer think about anything as her trigger callused fingers fondled his balls, alternating squeezing and rubbing the delicate flesh, while her mouth drove him to new heights of pleasure. Then, just when he thought he could take no more, that warm, tight, wet sheath about his throbbing organ tightened further as she hollowed her cheeks and hummed.

A shower of bright lights filled the space behind his eyes and his chest ached as he gasped for breath, but the woman who was the center of his universe wasn't done with him yet. She drank him down, taking everything he had and sending aftershocks vibrating through his whole body, as he pulsated harder from watching her wanton display between narrowed orbs.

Mr. McBride lay there, his thigh muscles still twitching, while his beautiful beloved hovered above him, wiping the back of her hand dramatically over her red lips. Then she smirked at him before she bit, licked and nipped her way up his heaving torso until Fiona covered him like a blanket, then she pulled said fabric back over the two of them.

His wife sighed contently as she snuggled him, rubbing her body over his a moment longer and then she laid a final kiss on the pulse of his racing heart at the base of his throat. When she slid out from under the covers, he protested weakly.

"Ah told ya tham socks would keep ya warm…"

"They had some help," he croaked, the lilt returning to his voice as a sated smile graced his face. The redhead beamed at him while she retrieved his pajama bottoms and his weapon from the other side of the room, leaving both in easy reach.

"Mabbe we can do a few more experiments when we have some free time," Fiona offered. Sashaying out of the room, Michael was already missing her warmth and regretting his decision to sleep on the chair.

"Ar' ya promisin' ta play doctor wit' me, luv?" he called out.

"If yer a good boy and git all yar work done right tomorra," she answered over her shoulder. "Sleep tight now an' don' let them thar bed bugs bite…"

Then she locked the door behind her as he shinnied into his night clothes, already feeling the conflict between what he wanted to do and what he knew he had to do, reminding him how very much he had come to love his new life since he had finally allowed himself to become Michael McBride, like he had wanted to all those years ago.

Just one more reason to make sure that Tyler Brennan and his gypsy allies were _out of his life_ tomorrow.

 _Permanently!_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _This is the ninth part of the 4.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 19 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 9**

 _An alternate for Season Four and beyond following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Lake Geneva, Switzerland, October 2017_

Tyler Brennan, part time spy and full time black market arms trader, had been relaxing in his deluxe suite on the fifth floor of the five star hotel and spa L'Grand Du Lac overlooking Lake Geneva and the snow-capped beauty of the Julian Alps when he had received a very interesting phone call from a contact living in the Ukrainian city of Donetsk.

If Ivan Bresin hadn't been one of his most reliable assets in eastern Europe, Brennan would have told his contact to stop wasting his time as soon as the Ukrainian had started telling the improbable tale of a teenage prostitute and her pimp murdering an experienced GRU officer and, along with stealing his wallet, identity cards and weapons, the young couple had made off with the schematics for top secret fuel cells designed to work with unmanned underwater drones.

However, two phone calls later and the silver haired black marketeer had not only confirmed the theft had actually occurred but had also managed to discover a lead to the location of the thief. By the time his seventeen year old daughter Annabelle, who was still attending one of the finest boarding schools in Switzerland, had joined him for lunch, Brennan's network of contacts had done what the GRU had so far failed to do and discovered the name of the man he needed to speak to if he wanted to buy the thumb drive holding the latest secrets of the Russian Navy.

The news that the Russians had lost their device to a pair of Roma gypsies had kept the merchant of war amused until his daughter had returned to her school in the early evening and by the time he was back in his room sipping on his favorite blend of Scotch on the rocks, he was ready to make his approach to the leader of the Dementer clan.

And that was when the first red flag nearly brought an end to Mr. Brennan's exciting new plan to make an obscene amount of cash. Josef Dementer was insistent that the deal go down in Dublin, Ireland and for Tyler Brennan, the Emerald Isle meant one thing: the home of Fiona Glenanne, former girlfriend of his nemesis Michael Westen.

The thought of running into Glenanne almost caused him to end the deal, his finely tuned sense of self-preservation reminding him of the other times he had crossed paths with the flame haired explosives expert. The petite terrorist had aided the burned spy in foiling his every plan, manipulating him to return an experimental guidance chip before its theft was discovered and then on his last encounter with Westen, he was positive it had been the spy's sweetheart who had destroyed his home with a bomb which reduced the million dollar property to smoking rubble.

But the urge for revenge as well as the opportunity to complete the deal of his lifetime urged the arms trader onwards. Glenanne was no threat to him on her own. Westen was in the wind; nobody knew where he had gone after he had cleared his name. It was rumored he was back working for the CIA, deep cover somewhere in the Middle East or some other hot spot. But maybe news that his former girlfriend was in danger might be enough to force the dark haired spy out of whatever hole he was hiding in. That thought brought a smile to Brennan's face as he'd picked up the phone. He was certain she would be a better hostage than the man's brother had been. So that very night he had called his best man and his latest hire into his room and had given them their orders.

"I'm going to stay here a few more days. I promised Annabelle I'd be here for her recital... I want you two to go on ahead. Curly, check out Dementer, he sounded a little too nervous to me for someone sitting on a gold mine. New Guy, I have something special for you. I want you to find out as much as you can about a woman called Fiona Glenanne and my advice is to do it as quietly as you can. Otherwise, you might end up getting some first-hand experience with an Irish wake..."

He had flashed his teeth in what passed as a charming smile at his bodyguards. Curly had been with him for years. The man had saved his life on more than one occasion and Brennan trusted that if Dementer had a weakness he could manipulate, then his favorite enforcer would find it. As for the New Guy that Curly had brought in to the fold, this would be a test of the younger man's usefulness. If he succeeded in his task, the weapons trader would have valuable information on one of his enemies. If he failed... well, there was always a long line of bodyguards looking for a job.

 _Early Hours, Dublin, Monday 30 October, 2017_

Sitting on the couch in a different hotel room this time with a view of a wide dull colored canal and high rise buildings instead of a picturesque alpine lake, Tyler Brennan relaxed back and stretched out his long legs, resting his Jeffrey West iguana skin brogues on top of a glass and polish brass table.

Taking a long sip from the glass of Scotch he had poured himself as soon as the bellboy had left the room, Brennan coolly appraised the two men standing facing him from the other side of the ornate coffee table.

"So, give me the good news." His sharp blue eyes fell upon his most trusted bodyguard.

"There is something going on, but I'm dammed if I can figure it out, boss." Curly crossed his muscular arms over his burly chest and shook his bald head. "In the last forty eight hours, all hell's broken loose. There was a fire in Dementer's old lady's fortune telling parlor and then the next morning, half the clan was running around outside a brothel they run here in town. I tried slipping the local law some cash, but getting answers outta these micks is like pulling teeth. All I got was one of them cracked up a car that was loaded with contraband and is looking at serious time in the Big House. Could be a turf war or could be someone else knows what those gippos got their grubby little hands on and don't want to pay for it."

The arms dealer pursed his lips and sat up a little straighter. Roma gypsies like all the other petty criminals which could be found in any city throughout the world had turf wars and disagreements with other gangs all the time and it was possible that that was all that was happening. However, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. It was also possible that they weren't bright enough to keep their mouths shut about what they had to trade... Could be other buyers involved who were trying to push a quick sale at a discount...

"Okay, New Guy, impress me. Tell me something I don't know."

The other man, who looked positively frail standing next to his bulkier associate, also looked more than a little bit green around the gills. There were several potential reasons for the younger man's appearance. Either he had failed to find anything useful on Glenanne and was worried about the consequences or the idiot had made the rookie mistake of matching the locals drink for drink. Or worse yet for keeping this all quiet, his newest employee had learned personally what happens to the uninvited nosing around the streets of Dublin.

"Fiona Glenanne is... uh, now Mrs. McBride..." he mumbled softly while running a hand over the back of his neck.

The young man glanced briefly into the suspicious blue orbs of his current employer, but all he could see were the icy pale blue eyes of the truly terrifying man who had cut off the drunken Irishman he'd been talking to before he could give him any intel and escorted him promptly out of room for, as the stranger had put it, _"a nice little chat about whot's gonna happen if ya continue ta stick yar nose whar it donnae belong."_

He coughed and continued. "She came back to Ireland and married some old flame from her IRA days... She's settled down and got a family of her own now... Her old man, he's… er, a property manager, er, collecting rents and the like... That's what they say down at the pub anyway."

The man in charge took another generous sip of his fine drink. "And tell me, genius, how did you discover all this?"

Tyler Brennan watched as a faint blush of color reached the slim man's pale cheeks and the way he stared down at the fine Italian marble floor, but was unaware of the turmoil going through his newest underling's head or the words that were still echoing in the younger man's ears.

After some intensely unpleasant questioning about for whom he worked and various details regarding his employer, the frighteningly intense older man had released his petrified captive with some terse instructions and a stern warning to carry back to whomever had sent him.

" _If ya know whot's good fer ya, ya'll go back an' make sure thot boss o' yars knows ta stay outta me sister's life, thot tis if ya donnae fancy ending yar days screaming fer a mercy thot will not come. She's retired fram tha army, same as har man. Tis a peaceful life thar livin' now, collectin' rents and mindin' thar own business. So, unless ye an' yar boss wants me ta make it me business ta come and see ya both, ya will be leaving them be. Ya know ya donnae wanna upset me, do ya now, boyo?"_

"It… it took me a while, but I found a guy willing to talk about the Glenannes, I, er… I had to keep getting the rounds, but it was worth the headache."

And when his latest henchman finally made eye contact, Brennan felt a sense of relief at New Guy's admission of guilt. "In the future, try spilling a drink or two or at least add some ice to your poison," he lectured sternly. "And don't expect to get reimbursed for the expenses."

Satisfied that Ms. Glenanne had given up on his arch rival and moved on, the arms dealer couldn't help gloating a little... Apparently he would have his choice of kids to strap a bomb to. Brennan wondered idly if Westen would have a different girlfriend in tow this time when Michael was forced to come to bail out another one of his ex's... For a spy, the man got around a little too publicly.

Knocking back the last of his whiskey, the silver haired weapons trader decided he would force his foe to tell him who had let out his own little secret about his beloved Annabelle before he made the ex-operator beg for death. On the other hand, if the man really had gone back into the CIA, those little pieces of potential leverage could come in very handy in the future...

"Go get cleaned up." He dismissed his men with a wave of his hand. "My computer guy arrives after lunch tomorrow and then we'll scout the meet." Yawning, Brennan got to his feet and was already thinking about using the jacuzzi bath he had been told about before climbing under the inviting duvet covering his bed.

 _Yes, this was turning out to be a very rewarding trip. But first things first..._. _There was a certain gypsy king he had to finish fleecing before he could move on to making Michael Westen's life a living hell..._

 **()()()()()**

 _Late Morning, Monday 30 October 2017_

Elias Dementer woke to the sound of loud ear splitting shrieks. Confused and sleep befuddled, the crown prince of the gypsy clan reared up and, before his eyes were fully capable of focusing, struck out at the hysterical teenager at his side.

"Shut your stupid mouth, bitch!" he cursed as the flat of his hand landed a heavy blow on the terrified girl's cheek, turning her cries to whimpers in an instant. "What the hell –?"

His words were cut off by a hard fist connecting with his jaw, knocking the young man back flat on the bed and it was only as he wiped the tears from his eyes that he saw the manifestation of evil looming over them which had caused her screams.

"Elias Dementer, there's a special place in Hell for you," the darkly tanned devil intoned.

"Who? What?" Elias scrubbed at his eyes, trying to make sense of the vision before him. _Who the hell wore sunglasses in the winter in Ireland?_

"My name is Luis Cypher and as to what... What I want is for you to get dressed and keep quiet until your father arrives. If you meant, what am I? _That_ I leave to your imagination." Perfect white teeth were barred in a grim smile.

The young man swallowed thickly and shuffled backwards, his hand reaching down to the dust covered floor in search of his clothes. "You won't want to be here when my father gets here. If you touch me again, hurt me in any way, he'll… he'll kill you where you stand," he blustered, swearing internally because his firearm was far out of reach.

"You can't kill what is already dead, Elias," Luis replied coldly and then, with a slight softening of his demeanour, he held out a hand to the underage girl cringing next to her boyfriend/pimp. "Get up and dressed," he ordered the young female. When she scampered past him, gathering up her clothing on the way out, he continued. "Leave this place... _while you can_."

The ex-spy didn't need to look around as the raven haired teenager fled the boathouse which Dementer Junior was using as a hideaway. He knew Fiona and Seamus were waiting outside, ready to whisk her away and onto a boat on its way to one of the many Greek islands in the Aegean Sea. From there, Seamus had already made arrangements for her to be transported back to her homeland.

The faux Irishman fought down the anger over what the Dementers had done to the adolescent running towards her freedom and others like her, remembering how he had spent the early morning trapped in his office, unable for the first time since settling in their Monkstown home to be there to greet his children at the start of their day.

 _He had stood listening to the loud excited voices of his eldest two and the sound of their bare feet thudding noisily on the wooden staircase as they made their way down to the kitchen. The former premier operative, who had once been accused of being willing to change his identity and move to the other side of the world to avoid a parking ticket, had rested his forehead against the solid door and wished for nothing more than to step out of his self-imposed prison and sweep his children up into his arms._ He let the frustration he'd felt color his expression as he glowered at his prisoner.

By the time he'd heard his mother-in-law and Liam's other half Jeannie order the twins to get their coats and then the long goodbyes as Maeve had insisted that the children stay at her house tonight, Michael had been restlessly pacing about the small office. _After today, they would either be clear of the threat to their lives or be preparing for an even bigger fight to protect all they had._

When the door flew open and his eldest brother-in-law had stepped inside bearing a steaming mug of coffee and cup of blueberry yogurt with a spoon, he had been more than ready to get to work.

" _Alright, McBride, get yar laughing gear around this lot and then it's time ta get ta work. Yar man Brennan has arrived an' is locked down in his hotel room. He's already called Murph; tha computer genius tis meeting ham after lunch an' old man Dementer has been on tha phone ta his boy Elias."_

With the teenage girl safely on her way back home to her family, Michael kept his attention on the young man who had just finished pulling on his pants. "Put these on," he commanded, tossing Elias a heavy duty cable tie, the loop already formed.

"Why should I -" the gypsy's words dried in his throat and he made the sign of the cross without conscious thought as the tall dark figure removed the sun glasses and he found himself looking into a pair of glowing yellow eyes. "I - - I, y-you c-can't be real," he stammered.

Michael backhanded his captive before he could blink. "Was that real? I assure you, _this_ _is real."_ To drive his point home, the faux devil drew a rather handsome silver and black two tone SIG P226 and levelled it between Elias' wide dark eyes. "Put them on... Don't make me tell you again."

Reluctantly, the Roma man did as he was told, fear of the supernatural and now the firearm which was in other man's hand keeping his natural instincts at bay. Sitting up on the worn mattress, he straightened as his other worldly captor took a step back.

"You won't get away with this, whatever it is you're after. My father, my family will hunt you d—"

"Your threats are meaningless. I've already spoken to your father. I am here now to see if he has come to his senses or if he needs another demonstration of my resolve."

The sound of a car coming to a stop outside the boathouse doors caused the part-time human trafficker to jump forward in a desperate attempt to escape and open his mouth to shout a warning to his parent. However, his older opponent was far faster and had been waiting for an opportunity to finish teaching the younger man the error of his ways.

 _When you're undercover, you often fight your emotions. If the operation demands you be a target's best friend -you do it, no matter what you're feeling. But there are times emotions can help sell a cover ID. If hitting a guy reinforces your cover, you give it all you got._

As Elias made his break for freedom, Michael acted instantaneously and delivered a stunning blow to his skull with the butt of the gun. Letting the body drop to the floor, the ex-spy slipped back into the shadows just as the door swung open and the elderly gypsy king stepped inside.

 **()()()()()**

Josef Dementer paused on the threshold of the ramshackle building which was normally used for storing stolen goods on their way either in or out of the country. He thought he had heard a shout as he had climbed out of his brother's car, his own being nothing but a pile of twisted and burnt metal thanks to the _fecior de curva_ who had paid his family a visit the night before.

The arrival of two patrol cars and a fire truck had only added to the dark fury which had filled the old man at the sight of his pride and joy burning on his driveway. Stunned by what looked on the surface to be the actions of a single man, or if Madelena was to be believed a demon from the darkest regions of hell, they had missed their chance to capture the _diavol_ and instead had been forced to delay their search by the nosy Gardai and officious firemen who noted that this was the second fire they had attended related to the Dementer family.

"Elias?" the elderly gypsy called out softly. As his eyes became adjusted to the dim light he spotted the crumpled body of his eldest boy on the floor and rushed forward. "Elias? Eli, what happened?"

Dropping to his knees, Josef gently turned his son over, wincing when he saw the livid bruises to his boy's jaw and cheek with a matching mark developing on younger man's temple. It was only when he was satisfied his heir was still breathing that he noticed his eldest's wrists were bound together with a plastic cable tie.

"Josef, are you ready to talk?" Michael spoke lowly as he stepped out of the shadows.

" _You!_ " the elderly gypsy filled that one word with all the venom he possessed. _"What have you done to him?"_

"Nothing compared to what _will_ happen to him… unless you've come to your senses?" Michael glided closer until he was face to face with the older man, making sure the wily gypsy got a good long look at the gun in his hand.

" _Yar man Brennan has a two man team wit' ham. He's carrying a fancy SIG P226 as his personal weapon." Liam had passed on the information on Sunday morning after he had slipped out for a late night conversation with 'a nosy yank asking questions' around the less salubrious pubs in the city. "I had Seamus take a look through his collection an' he has one jus' like it."_

"That thing your son stole, it needs to be out of your possession, out of Ireland… _today_. The longer you hold on to it, the worse things will be for you, for your family."

"You expect me to hand it over _to you?_ " the senior Dementer scoffed. "Give up something worth hundreds of thousands Euros just like that because some man dressed as a devil threatened me?"

"I'm not here to threaten you, Josef. I am here as a warning of what is to come if you don't get rid of that thumb drive… _today_. Whatever gain you think you going to make will only end in sorrow."

"I don't know what game you think you are playing, but—"

"You think this is a game? What happened when I found your family, Josef? _Was that a game?"_

Michael raised his other arm, pressing his thumb to his middle finger, and despite himself the head of clan pulled back and flinched as his other worldly enemy held his hand aloft while continuing to aim the twin of Brennan's favorite firearm at the elderly man's chest.

"You think you have time to sell to the highest bidder? What you have stolen needs to leave your hands _today_. You are running out of time, Josef Dementer. They are coming for you, for all of you."

This time the dark haired man with the fierce amber eyes did snap his fingers and the sound of an explosion echoed throughout the run down boat house and the old gypsy's feet felt the tremor in the floorboards and he knew without having to see the fireball that his brother's car had just met the same fate as his own ruined vehicle. Seething, he balled his hands into trembling fists of fury.

" _I will kill you,"_ Josef snarled. _"You and whoever sent you. You will die begging—"_

"No, it is you and your family that will die, begging for death. Do you know who's looking for you?

What will happen when the people you've stolen from find your family? Do you know what the GRU does to their prisoners, especially the ones who have murdered one of their officers?"

The leader of the Roma in Dublin was so intently focused as planned on the object of his wrath that the one woman who could still sneak up one of the best American agents the CIA ever produced slipped behind the enraged head of the Dementer family and waited patiently for her cue.

"Do you think this will end once you've auctioned off the thumb drive? Get rid of it _today_ and then get out of Ireland while you still can. Your end is coming, Josef. This is your last warning."

And the dark haired stranger with the shining eyes and the cruel mocking smile, the white teeth almost gleaming against his ruddy skin, was the last thing the king of the gypsies saw before the butt of an assault rifle guaranteed that all Josef Dementer saw next was stars and then nothing at all.

 **()()()()()()**

 _Lunchtime, Monday 30 October 2017_

 _Covert operatives try to avoid assuming other people's identities whenever possible. There's just too many pitfalls when you're dealing with someone your new identity has corresponded with. What have they said? What have they been told? What have they agreed to? Of course, it helps when the person you are pretending to be can fill in all those little gaps for you._

Colin Glenanne dressed in his finest suit and carrying a large laptop case in his right hand took a deep breath and paused for a second to look up at the futuristic architecture and large expanse of plate glass which made the Marker Hotel stand out from all the other nearby buildings. Boldly stepping inside, he made his way past the Marker Bar where two of his nephews sat at a table dressed in their Sunday best, doing their utmost to look like young professionals having a business lunch.

Reaching the bank of elevators, he headed up to the second floor and then along the hallway to Suite 214. After knocking on the door, the Irishman nervously fiddled with his watch strap until he heard the door being unlocked and snatched his hand back down by his side.

" _Brennan is careful and paranoid. He'll search you and probably run a scanner over you, so you're gonna wear this."_ Michael had handed him a wrist watch with a large face and a thick leather strap. _"After he's checked you out, pretend to wind the watch, the winder will activate a short range receiver. Liam's driver Davy is gonna be sitting out front pretending to watch the boats on the canal. He'll relay what's happening to us and Shay's twins are gonna be downstairs if there's any trouble."_

Colin stared up at the tall bald headed man who answered the door and forced a smile on to his face. "Me name's Murph, Mr. Brennan tis expectin' me."

The bruiser poked his head out of the door and looked one way and then the other before making way for his boss's guest. "Come on in."

As soon as he entered the suite, the laptop case was snatched from his hand by a second smaller, less burly enforcer while the first one began to pat him down roughly.

"He's clean, boss," the bodyguard announced at the end of the search.

"You'll have to pardon, Curly. He takes his job very seriously." Tyler Brennan sauntered out of a side room, settling a shoulder holster in place over a crisp white shirt and giving Colin his first look at the man who had strapped a bomb to the arm of a child and had very nearly gotten Michael Westen to steal guidance codes to save his younger brother's life.

"Take a seat…" Brennan gestured to the long grey colored couch in the center of the room. "You're not what I expected. I thought all you hackers went around wearing Vendetta masks nowadays?" he chuckled at his own joke.

"Am sorry ta disappoint ya, Mr. Brennan, but yar thinkin' of tha wrong group. Tha people I do business wit'... We like ta keep ourselves outta tha spotlight," the redhead answered far more calmly than he felt as he took the proffered seat.

"Glad to hear it, discretion is a very important part of my job and I take my agreements very seriously. Life is too short to risk working with amateurs, am I right?"

"Are ya tryin ta make a point, Mr. Brennan?" Colin stopped fiddling with his watch and gave the American a long cold stare. For that split second, he forgot the character he was supposed to be playing and his expression was pure incensed Glenanne, much like the look he had worn when many years ago Seamus had spilled a steaming hot cup of tea over his treasured first computers keyboard. "Ya came _ta me_ , remember? I told ya befer I can verify if it's Russian naval tech, thot's easy enough, and I'll be able ta get a peek at whot's on tha files. But all tha good stuff thot's bound ta be encrypted an' thot might take me a day or two. Are ya sure we have a day or two, Mr. Brennan?"

"Why are you so worried about my travel schedule?" the arms trader asked.

" _I don't know your friend, Murph, but what I do know is most criminals are, as a rule, paranoid and self-serving. So since you're going to be using a criminal cover I.D., you can't be too helpful_."

Just in time, Colin remembered his brother-in-law's words of advice and got back in character.

"Am not... Whot Am worried about is tha original owners o' thot little thumb drive turnin' up an' puttin' a crimp in me pension pot... So Am askin' again, ar' ya sure ya have tha couple o' days I'll need ta get tha crackin' done?"

"Murph," Brennan smiled, though there was no sign of friendliness in his eyes. "We each have our own unique set of skills and in this little enterprise _your_ job is to hack a couple of files for me and for that you get a case full of money. Leave the security to me."

"As ya like, Mr. Brennan... But jus' so I have it clear in me own head, while Am verifying tha data an' running a decrypt, yar seller's gonna be happy ta wait around patiently, is he? A saint o' a fella he must be then an' yar security must be somethin' mighty impressive."

"Something like that…" The arms dealer paused and gave Colin a speculative look. "While you're running the encryption program, how much would it cost for you to make several copies for me?"

"Copies? Yar a crafty man, Mr. Brennan," Colin chuckled. "Me original fee an' then another fifty thou per copy... Oh an' it'll be taking me a few extra days ta get tha job done."

"Can you do it here?"

"Har? Not a chance if ya want it done quick. I'd have ta take it back ta me own place in tha North. How d'ya think thot would go down wit' yar seller?"

"You're a pretty inquisitive guy for a hacker…" The war merchant studied _Murph_ for a minute, as if he was trying to decide something.

"We're a curious breed, sir. Thot's how we come inta tha business ta begin with, is it not?"

 _When you're handing over sensitive information to a person you have never met face to face before, it's basic security to make sure that the person you're dealing with really is who he says he is. An easy way is to change details that the other person would know._

"You have a deal, the original fee and five copies makes half a million Euros. I have your two fifty here. After you verify the drive, you get the rest when I get the copies... Oh and my guy will keep you company and the drive safe."

The middle Glenanne sibling blinked and pushed his glasses up his nose. This was the test his brother-in-law had warned him might happen. "Ya seem ta be mistaken, Mr. Brennan. I agreed ta two fifty, but _in sterling_ nae Euros. Are ya tryin' ta short change me?"

"Sorry, foreign currency… I keep forgetting the two aren't the same thing." The American shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet. "The meeting isn't due to take place until 8 o' clock, but I always like to get there early. So let's get going."

Colin looked at his watch. It was only just past 1:00 PM. He had not expected to be in the company of the arms trader for so long.

"Thot's fine. Then I'll leave ya ta -"

"Call me a little over cautious, but with so much of _my_ money at stake I like to have everybody where I can see them. You'll be staying at my side until I get what I've paid for."

"Well, call _me_ a tad over cautious, sir, but a half million sterling still donnae buy ya tha privilege o' seein' whar I do me work."

"Hmmm, seems we have come to a bit of an impasse then." The silver haired weapons dealer stood over the faux criminal. Colin felt the hair on the back of his neck go up as the two bodyguards closed in on him from either side. "So, I hope you brought your best hardware and your A game because you will be verifying at the site of the exchange." Brennan reached up and patted the handle of the black and silver SIG that protruded from his openly carried holster. "And then we'll see where we do the rest of our business... whatever that turns out to be."

Looking slowly from one side to the other, making eye contact briefly with Brennan's two henchmen, Colin turned his attention back to the man in charge. This was as far out of his comfort zone as the family computer genius had ever stepped. _He had never enjoyed handling the weapons and explosives that the rest of his siblings had taken to from a young age, nor did he possess the love of adventure which had sent his only living sister around the world causing mayhem wherever she set foot._ But what he did have in common with every other Glenanne was an unbreakable sense of loyalty and a deep abiding hatred for anyone who would dare harm a child.

"Donnae take it personal, Mr. Brennan. I put a lotta value on me privacy an' I donnae fancy tha idea o' havin' ta spend tha rest o' me life runnin' fram angry Russians if ya get caught sellin' thar secrets ta tha highest bidders." He rose up, so he was eye to eye with the arms merchant and barred his teeth in a self-assured smile. "But seein' how ya so confident thot won't be happening, shall we get goin' then?"

 **()()()()()**

 _Evening, Monday 30 October 2017_

 _The site of a deal can tell you a lot about who you are doing business with. If it's private, they value control. If it's public, they want to get in and out anonymously. If they've somehow found a site that gives them both, you're dealing with somebody who really knows what they're doing._

"Thot Brennan is one careful bastid," Sean rested his knuckles on the McBride's dining room table as he leaned over the large street map of Dublin. "He took Colin on a tour o' tha city fer over an hour. We had ta change up tha tail so many times, I thought we wa' gonna run outta cars an' have ta start stealin' tham..." The youngest of the male siblings sighed. "An' now I've seen it up close, thot meeting spot is gonna be a bloody nightmare, so it is."

"As soon as we found out where it was going down, we knew it was going to be tricky," Michael replied, tapping one of his long pointed fingernails on a large expanse of green. "Chapelizod Industrial Estate is gonna be quiet enough at that time of night. But Phoenix Park…" He sucked in a breath and shook his head. "If I wanted somewhere nice and private, but with great security nearby in case things went wrong, I don't think I could've picked a better place. The Zoo isn't the problem. It'll be closed by the time all the action starts and it's way over on the other side of the park."

"But the official gaff of Michael Higgins, our sainted president, an' his full company o' SDU officers _is_ a _lot_ closer," Liam commented.

"And Deerfield tha home o' tha US ambassador ta Ireland is closer still... wit' all yar old friends in tha secret service," Fiona added as she slid closer to her husband, slipping her arms about his waist and resting her chin against his arm. "Which means wa're gonna have no time at all after tha first shot tis fired befer all hell lets loose."

"Aye, Dementer has done a good job," Sean grudgingly agreed as he turned his attention to his brother-in-law. "D'ya think yar man Brennan knows about tha viper's nest he's about ta stick his head in ta?"

"Brennan is careful. My guess is that's the reason he's only brought a two-man team with him. Both sides will want this deal to go down quietly."

"And tis our job to see thot donnae happen." Fiona ended her speech with a kiss to her husband's whisker-covered cheek.

"Yer right." Michael let the Irish brogue slip back into his voice as he inched out of his wife's arms. Even after seven years, he was still a little uncomfortable about displays of affection in front of her brothers when they were in operational mode. "We should get over there now... Brennan has already had a couple of hours to get set up... Where's Seamus? I thought he was getting the girl on a boat and then joining us?"

"Tha girl is on har way ta Kos and Shay is wit' his boys, keeping an eye on Colin," Sean explained.

"Good." The former spy reached down to where the long canvas bag holding his sniper rifle lay on the floor. Then Liam placed a restraining hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Aye in a minute, lad... Cool yar heels. We have ta talk first."

Michael slowly straightened, not liking the tone in the older man's voice and dreading what it meant.

"Ta cover Colin properly tis gonna be impossible. Thar in an empty warehouse wit' at least four exits. We cannae all get in close enough ta be much good... But ya could on yar own... I've seen ya do it befer. I think ya should stay in disguise an' get as close as ya can. Thot way ya can back up Colin and stir things up if necessary by letting Josef catch a glimpse o' ya behind Brennan an' it'll put ya in close enough ta pull Colin out if thar is a problem."

"I'll go wit' him," Fiona added determinedly. "Two guns ar' better than one."

"No, ya won't," the head of the clan growled. "Ya'll be over by thot pharmaceutical warehouse next door watching one o' tha exits in case thot sneaky SOB Brennan tries ta leave."

"I -" she began to protest. But before she could get any further, her husband took hold of her hand and pulled her around to face him.

"Fi, we can't both be inside," the former spy quietly reminded his wife of the promise they had made to each other many years ago that one of them would always be there for their children.

"Fine…" Her blue-green eyes flashed with a strange mix of concern and anger and though he should have known what to expect next, it didn't make the slap which landed on his cheek hurt any less. "But thot's a little taste o' whot ya can expect if things go wrong."

 **()()()()()**

"Figuring out if a car is tailing you is mostly about driving like you're an idiot." Colin did his best to relax on the back seat of Brennan's BMW hire car while the black marketeer sitting in at his side explained why the big bald bodyguard was zigzagging his way back and forth over the River Liffey and around the maze-like, one-way system which made up the city center.

"My old training officer taught me that. You speed up, slow down, signal one way, turn the other." The luxury saloon car lurched to the right at the last moment to drive onto a narrow back street, traveling the wrong way briefly along a one-way street before taking another turn to put them back into the stream of traffic. "Losing a tail isn't about driving fast. All a high-speed pursuit is gonna do is land you on the six o'clock news, am I right? So, you just keep driving like an idiot until the other guy makes a mistake."

Half an hour later, the arms dealer seemed satisfied that there was nobody following them and, with a pat on Curly's shoulder, directed the other man to finally make his way out of the city.

As they drove northwards, Colin kept his eyes to the front, doing his best to resist the urge to glance back to see if his younger brother and nephews had managed to keep them in sight during all the earlier shenanigans.

"Don't look so worried, Murph," Brennan smirked. "In a few hours time, we'll both be stinking rich."

"Aye, jus' as long as wa're both alive ta enjoy tha cash," the redhead replied blinking rapidly when the American took a sharp corner on the wrong side of the road.

 **()()**

The warehouse Josef Dementer had chosen for their clandestine meeting was as big as an aircraft hangar with a high ceiling and very little in the way of hiding spaces inside and, though he was loathe to admit it, Brennan couldn't find a single thing wrong with the aged gypsy's choice of venue.

"A nice quiet spot with nowhere to hide and thanks to the neighbors at the first sound of gunfire, we'll be knee deep in Irish and American secret service agents." The silver haired war merchant stood next to his car and slowly turned around, taking a good look at the stark building. "Okay, gentlemen, silencers for everybody and break out the big toys."

"Whot ar' ya doin', Mr. Brennan?" Colin joined the arms trader outside the vehicle, his green eyes going wide as he watched Curly hand out suppressors from one of two large bags filled with a variety of semi-automatic weapons.

"I thought we'd agreed security was my area of expertise." Brennan glanced up as he screwed the silencer on to the barrel of his handgun. "Why don't you stay in the car and I'll call you when I need you."

The American had already dismissed the computer genius from his thoughts as he turned to Curly and the New Guy. "You two, I want you to keep watch while I get set up in here. Get moving – and keep your eyes open for anyone nosing around."

 **()()**

"Get a move on!" Josef Dementer cuffed one his many nephews around the back of the head as the young man dawdled in the arms of his mother instead of getting into one of the line of vehicles waiting to move off. "We have less than two hours to get into position. I want to be there early enough to see this gorger bastard coming."

The head of the clan had been incensed when he'd woken up on the dirty boat house floor to the sound of his son calling his name and patting his cheek. The _fiul lui cățea_ who had knocked them both out had also stolen their phones before once more disappearing into the ether.

By the time they had found a working payphone and a driver had been dispatched to rescue them, Josef was ready to commit murder on anyone who dared to bring up the subject of devils, demons or ditching the sale of the thumb drive, which was going to make them more money than they usually made in a year.

"Nikolai…! Niko, get them moving. Have you checked the guns?"

"Everything we have is loaded into the cars, brother... But isn't this supposed to be between no more than four on each side? We can't afford to lose this deal... I heard a rumor that there were Russians in town, asking questions and still no word on Ivan and Petru…. You promised me my boys would be -"

"Luis or whatever he calls himself didn't harm Elias back at the boathouse. If he has Ivan and Petru, I'm sure they'll turn up after today." Josef cut off his younger brother's words and concerns without another thought; he had bigger things on his mind.

While he had been sitting waiting for Niko to turn up with yet another car, it had struck the gypsy king that Luis the Diavol could be in the employ of the mysterious American arms trader. Tyler Brennan had barely haggled over the price. In fact, he had been more stubborn amount the location of the sale, digging his heels in over having to make a journey to the Emerald Isle and going so far as ending the call, only to ring back an hour later and agree to the terms.

" _Do you think this will end once you've auctioned off the thumb drive? Get rid of it today and then get out of Ireland while you still can. Your end is coming, Josef. This is your last warning."_ Those had been the last words the devil had spoken to him.

Josef picked up his Remington pump action shotgun and ran a hand lovingly down the barrel. He would know the truth. If Mr. Tyler Brennan tried to negotiate a new deal, he would know that all his suspicions were correct. _Why else would the yellow eyed demon insist the sale had to happen today?_

 _And then Mr. Tyler Brennan would learn that not all Roma were superstitious fools to fall for such an obvious trick,_ Josef decided as he made his weapon ready for action with a satisfying sound.

 **()()**

" _Oh Jaysus, ya shoulda tol' me we war meetin' wit' a bunch o' pikeys befer we left tha hotel. I coulda saved us a journey."_ Michael smiled as he listened to _'Murph'_ bend the ear of the international arms trader who had brought him so much trouble in the past.

" _I tell ya tha chance o' thot thumb drive ya want decrypting holdin' anythin' useful ta ya is slimmer than a heatwave in winter, so it is."_ Inching closer and closer to the entrance of the empty warehouse, Michael had already slipped past one of Brennan's two bodyguards and no longer needed the ear piece he had shoved as far into his right ear as possible to listen to his brother-in-law's complaints.

"This isn't my first rodeo. I have it on good authority that -"

"Ya jus' donnae get it, Mr. Brennan. Even if they have whot they say, ya donnae expect ta walk outta har wit' it do ya?... They'll take ya money an sell ya a pup. Ya cannae trust them an inch."

"As much as I admire you're computer skills, Mr Murphy," There was a hint of exasperation in the arms trader's voice as he dealt with the garrulous Irishman. "I should point out I was also warned to steer clear of you. A Protestant Irishman who worked for British Intelligence until he discovered he could make more money operating outside the law. But here we are working together, just like a team. Now how about you quit whining and let me get on with what I do best?"

Grinning at the irritation he could hear in arch enemy's tone, Michael scrunched down lower as another voice came through his ear piece. _"Josef an' his crew have jus' past us by... Watch yar backs, thar's at least sixteen o' tham in four cars."_ It was Patrick, who along with his younger twin brothers had been giving the job of watching the entrance to the industrial area.

 **()()**

 _Dealing with a trained operative is like playing chess with a master. Dealing with criminals, on the other hand, is like playing checkers with a three year-old. They like to change the rules._

"Boss, it looks like we've got company... Four cars coming in fast…. I thought you said it supposed to be one?" Curly jogged towards his employer to deliver the bad news.

"That was the agreement, idiot." Brennan was all business now. Moving swiftly, he swept by his encryption guy on his way to be center stage when that deal-breaking Romanian showed his face.

"This is what happens when you deal with amateurs," he muttered under his breath as a long dark colored car came to a stop at the opposite end of the warehouse and three more vehicles parked just outside the doors. "Josef Dementer, I presume? I said no more than you and three others. Was that too hard for you to understand? Who are your friends?"

"Mr. Brennan," the gypsy pointedly looked to the two heavily armed men flanking their boss. "What we have to sell is very valuable and I am an old man... _And_ my family is very protective."

The silver haired black marketeer pursed his lips. The whole group was on edge; that much was obvious. His finely tuned instincts told him to make the deal and get out quickly before something happened they would all regret. "The drive, let's see it."

"The money first," the elderly man demanded stubbornly.

Brennan narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. "Let me tell you how these things go... _You_ don't get to see the money until _after_ I've verified the merchandise." Confident that his two bodyguards with their superior weapons could deal with the ragtag group of amateurs, Brennan half turned and raised his right hand, pressing his thumb to his middle finger. "Testing Guy, front and-"

"NO! Stop!" Josef yelled at the familiar gesture and his brother, sons and nephews behind him all stiffened, their guns raising at the perceived threat.

 _It's always best to have business arguments unarmed. When tempers are high and everyone's got a gun, you never know what's going to set someone off._

"Curly!" Brennan reached for his gun even as he called to his premier protector, his Irish associate's words of warning still ringing clearly in his head. _"Even if they have whot they say, ya donnae expect ta walk outta har wit' it, do ya?"_

And at that exact same moment, Josef Dementer saw two things simultaneously which drove all sense of reason from his mind. The arms trader's two-tone P226, identical to the one which had been pointed in his face earlier that day, set his blood aflame and then in the background, the devil himself Luis Cypher rising up from the ground behind the arms trader and his men, the demon's unmistakeable yellow eyes glowing luminescent in the dark.

" _You!"_ Dementer shouted, "You… I knew it! You think you can -"

A shot rang out loud and clear echoing in the night and ending the gypsy's diatribe as the bullet hit the ground between the two groups before ricocheting off to the side. That one gunshot which seemed to have come out of nowhere was enough to set off a bloody chain reaction as the hot headed Nikolai brought his sawn off shot gun up and fired both barrels straight as his nearest target. New Guy went down almost cut in two by the spray of buckshot.

But though the gypsies had numbers on their side, their shot guns and revolvers were no match to the expertise and the quality of weapons of the two surviving men facing them. Brennan finished drawing his P226 and fired, killing Josef instantly with the bullet to the elderly man's brain, followed by a second shot which ripped through the gypsy king's brother's chest.

Meanwhile Curly had hold of two full automatic Mac 10's which sent out a hail of bullets, causing the rest of the Roma gang to scatter and look for some sort of cover.

However, weight of numbers meant the two American's couldn't possibly take all the gypsies down and a lucky shot from an injured man cut the legs out from Brennan's premier bodyguard and once he was down writhing in pain, Curly stood no chance. Another of the gang fired on the fallen man, finishing off the burly man with a shot to throw his bald pate. On his own, Brennan fought with all the courage of a cornered rat, but to no avail as the remaining Roma turned upon their lone enemy.

As suddenly as the shooting had started, it was over. In less than a minute, the cacophony of noise was reduced the cries of the injured and, faintly in the distant but coming closer, the piercing wail of police sirens.

"Clear out!" Dragon Dementer called out, his eyes wild with panic at the scene of destruction laid out before him, half his family was either dead or dying. "Pick up the bodies and get out of here... Scatter, the – the Gard will be coming for us all."

 **()()**

It had been many, many years since Colin had been so close to the horrors of war. The last time he had felt the sensation of bullets passing him by had been on the fateful day his oldest brother Pat Jr had been dragged from the family residence and slaughtered on the street in front of their Belfast home. Back then he had been a skinny teenager, who along with Sean had done his best to protect their mother and young sisters from the British paratroopers tearing their home apart.

Ever since that day over thirty years ago, the family computer expert had lived a sheltered life either working for Liam or in his free time working with a group of hackers who thrived on chaos. Pushed flat to the hard concrete floor by his brother-in-law, the red headed Irishman watched the brutal gunfight through the narrow gap afforded by ground clearance of Brennan's hire car.

"Jayzuz, ya certainly set tha cat among tha pigeons, brudder," Colin gasped as he witnessed, Josef and then Elias Dementer fall to Brennan's marksmanship.

"That was the whole idea." Michael flinched as a stray bullet shattered the window above his head, spraying glass over them both.

When the shooting stopped, he felt McBride's hand on his shoulder and then the younger man breathe close to his ear. "Stay down until they move out."

"Clear out!" came a loud shout from the other end of the warehouse. "Pick up the bodies and get out of here... Scatter, the – the Gard will be coming for us all."

Second later, there was a scuffle of many feet and then the roar of car engines as the surviving gypsies fled the scene, taking their dead and wounded with them.

"Okay, grab tha money an' yar laptop." With the threat to his family neutralized, it seemed his brother-in-law was letting the soft Irish brogue slip back into his speech.

Getting slowly to his feet, Colin peered through the bullet shattered window of the hire car before opening the door and reaching inside for the large metal case containing the cash Brennan had been about to hand over to Josef.

"Brennan is down... Tha survivors are on thar way out... We need thot thumb drive, Liam." Michael raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into the microphone hidden by the cuff of his jacket as he moved away from the car.

" _An' I'm gonna get it fer ya... Get outta thar yarself. Tha whole o' Dublin Gardai are less than a mile away."_ Liam's reply came through loud and clear.

"Mike -" Colin stood upright, the sound of the sirens were a lot closer now and the computer genius had no wish to end his evening trying to explain dead bodies and multiple bullet holes to the SDU. "Michael, whot tha feck…? Ya said yarself we have no time ta waste."

The former spy was walking determinedly towards the blood drenched figure weakly writhing on the warehouse floor as the gun slipped from the man's hand and his finger fell away from the trigger.

"Mike, we really have ta go. Thot fella is dead fer sure." He took hold of the younger man's arm intending to pull him around. But his grip was no match for the ex-operative's resolve as Michael shrugged off his hand.

He blocked out his brother-in-law's words of warning and continued to stalk towards the man who had been such a great threat to his family. He had to be sure that Tyler Brennan was never going to be a danger to anybody he loved again.

" _Michael, get yar arse outta thar now!"_ His wife's voice came through his earpiece. _"I swear if yer nae out har in thirty seconds, Am gonna come an' get ya meself."_

Standing over one of his most dangerous foe's, Michael watched dispassionately as his one-time arch nemesis continued to bleed out. Aiming his handgun down at the dying man's head, the ex-spy turned family man began to squeeze the trigger. _This ended today, right now_. He couldn't risk some prison doctor putting Brennan back together and the whole sorry episode starting again.

"You…" The arms traders blue eyes opened wide, staring in disbelief at the apparition looking down upon him. "I – I knew, – deep – down I, I knew." He took several deep rattling breaths and tried and failed in his effort to reach the gun lying just out of reach.

"You should save your breath," Michael spoke dispassionately, his finger coming away from the trigger. Now he could see the true extent of the other man's wounds, the dark haired faux devil knew without a doubt there was no hope for his enemy.

"I knew…" The dead man talking swallowed thickly, determined to get his last words out. "Y-you can go to hell, Westen."

"You first, Brennan."

" _Will ya get tha feck outta thar? Tha Gard are gonna be breathin' down yar neck any second now... We've got tha drive, so move yar fecking arse." Liam's orders came through as the arms trader took his last tortured breath._

"Mike, Mikey, c'mon, man. Fiona tis threatening ta dismember tha pair o' us."

At Colin's words and the rough shake on his arm, Michael shook off the spell he had fallen under and the two men sprinted from the warehouse towards the two cars waiting further along the street.

 **()()**

"Liam and Sean caught up ta tha rest o' tha Roma on thar way out an' introduced tham ta an IRA style roadblock. They disabled their cars and set tha survivors off on foot. Tha Gard or SDU will pick up at least a couple o' tham, thot's if tha wounded they left behind donnae grass on tham." Fiona sat behind the wheel of a little non-descript plain grey Vauxhall Corsa, driving hell for leather back to Dublin and their home in the suburbs.

"Liam took tha thumb drive wit' him so Colin can take a look at it, ya know confirm whot's on it befer we hand it over... Have ya given any thought who yer gonna give it ta?... By tha way, Seamus tis angling fer us ta keep a copy fer ourselves. He says being able ta bring his weapons ta shore using a drone would make his job a lot easier." She took her eyes off the road just long enough to send him a beaming smile.

"An' another thing Michael, when we get back yer gonna have ta explain ta me whot ya war thinking, standin' o'er Brennan tha way ya did. Ya shoulda jus' shot him, tis whot I woulda done... Did he die bloody? I hope he died bloody..."

 _She looked beautiful..._ Michael had ceased listening to his wife not long after she had found a way past the first Gardai check point they came across, taking the little compact car down a narrow lane and then bumping along an unlit bridle path before finally finding a way back onto the main road.

Though he was tuning out her hurried speech, he couldn't take his eyes off her, the brightness in her blue-green eyes, the animated way she moved her head and hands as she continued her non-stop chatter. Her words were tumbling out of her mouth the same way the twins spoke when they were over excited. He knew her lithe, strong supple body was still flooded with adrenaline and the joy of victory over their enemies.

If he touched her now, that nervous energy bubbling within would surely burn away every inch of steely resolve he possessed and he knew better than to distract her. Anything she might do in response that could cause her to drive erratically and get them noticed by the Gardai. He couldn't risk being spotted in his current cover. Not only did Michael not want to have to explain himself, if spotted it could give credence to whatever otherwise seemingly insane statements the surviving members of Dementers clan might make.

He could feel it himself, every synapse firing, his blood pumping through his body like a drumbeat, the heady sensation of going into battle and coming out the other side in one piece; getting to live another day. He'd forgotten what it felt like to hold the power of life and death in his hands. He'd forgotten how much he missed the pure adrenaline rush of being on a knife's edge. Letting out soft sigh, he let his head fall back against the seat as he fought to keep himself under control.

" _Being a spy, you have to get comfortable with the idea of people doing bad things for good reasons; doing good things for bad reasons. You do the best you can."_ He vaguely remembered saying those words years earlier to during his short time as a training officer. He remembered Lucy Chen's expression and the emotions she had been trying to cover with that carefully schooled mask of stoic professionalism that he had taught her.

He had no regrets about the bodies they had left behind them. They had beaten a man who had destroyed so many vulnerable lives, women and children who hadn't stood a chance against his cold hearted manipulation and protected their own children from another soulless bastard who would have happily strapped bombs to their little arms in order to get what he wanted. _What they had done had been, as far as he was concerned, for the very best of reasons._

Running his tongue over his dry lips, the family man turned avenging angel linked his fingers to keep his hands on his lap before they could stray to the beautiful woman at his side. Now was not the time; there would be no pulling over to the side of the road, ripping each other's clothes off to celebrate being alive. He bit down on his lip to suppress the maniacal grin which was trying to break free. _No, he had plans for tonight…_ The children were with their grandmother and he had concocted the perfect revenge for the glorious torture his flame haired vixen had put him through the night before.

As he sat there, letting his gaze linger on his wife's tantalizing figure, all he could think about was the way she had looked him up and down, her eyes shining with mischief and the way her lips had formed a perfect pout as she'd called him 'Mr. Luis Cy-pher.'

"Well, are ya coming inside Mr. McBride?"

At his woman's words, Michael looked about and realized while he had been letting his thoughts wander. Fiona had gotten them home in one piece and had positioned the little Corsa next to her sleek Hyundai Genesis.

"Honestly, Michael, ya have nae spoken a word ta me all tha way home... Whot tis up wit' ya? Has tha devil got yar tongue?"

"No," he replied, striding hurriedly joined her outside the car. "But he's about to get yours," Michael muttered, the grin almost breaking through before he brought himself under control again. "Fiona... _Wait_." The last word came out as an order and caused the slender red head to pause with her foot on the first step, stopping on her way up the stairs to the warmth of the house above.

He sucked in a breath as his wife turned to face him and, as he stared into her questioning blue-green eyes, he settled back into the mantle of Luis Cypher. "Fiona McBride we have a score to settle."

He was directly in front of her, his cold heartless expression obviously causing her some confusion as she stared back at him.

"Michael?" She half smiled as he stepped inside her personal space, one hand reaching out and capturing her throat.

He pulled her towards him roughly, his other hand clutching the back of her head tightly as he laid a demanding kiss on her mouth before releasing her, ending with his teeth scraping and pulling not quite painfully along her bottom lip.

Mr. McBride would have smiled at the mixture of consternation, defiance and lust on her face, but he refused to break character. He hadn't spent days wearing the disguise of the devil not to use it now that they were completely alone.

"Strip..." He growled out the single word, as his fingers tightened by a fraction, his sharp nails leaving shallow indentations where they dug into her soft skin.

"Strip…? Here?"

Her husband leaned in and attacked the soft skin of her neck with the same heated passion that he had just applied to her lips before raising his own to her ear. "You'll do as your told or suffer the consequences," he advised lowly, biting her earlobe with more force than she was accustomed to being on the receiving end of.

He could feel her trembling under his touch and for a brief second he wondered if he was going too far too fast. But before he could loosen his grip and explain what he had in mind, her eyes went wide and her kiss-bruised bottom lip quivered.

"Oh my," she breathed, "please, _please_ , Mr. Cypher, donnae hurt me. I'll be a good girl." Her words and weak struggling convinced him the fear he saw was nothing more than his beloved getting into character.

"I said _, strip_."

"Here, in tha cold damp garage? Would ya nae prefer me ta disrobe in tha comfort of our warm bedroom wit' a nice soft bed ta fall back upon?"

He leaned in again, his nose brushing against her cheek again, pressing his teeth into her other earlobe before releasing it with a sharp nip. "What makes you think I care if you're comfortable," he murmured darkly as he drew back.

Looking down, he watched intently as her fingers began to slowly unbutton her jacket while she dropped at her gaze to her task.

"Ya wouldnae be so cruel as ta have me strip off har, would ya Mr- Luis? Tis so cold har," she said submissively, almost convincing him that his victim was properly cowed, though he knew better.

"I certainly would." The heavy padded jacket she favored for night time covert missions slipped from her shoulders and onto the stairs.

"I-I cannae get me jumper over me head wit' yar hand on me throat." She looked up at him now with pleading eyes.

"No tricks, Fiona, I am not a forgiving man." Despite his glare, his breath hitched in his throat as her lips brushed against his hand when he released his hold and took a step back.

As he did, the heel of her booted foot came down with all the power she could muster on to the toe of his dress shoe and the palms of her hands shoved him back so he fell against the stair rail and she was free, bolting up the steps and through the door into the house.

"Ya want me, Luis Cypher, yer gonna have ta catch me."

As he loosened and then discarded his red silk tie and suit coat on top of the abandoned padded jacket, Michael rubbed the front of his bruised foot against the back of his leg, his gleaming yellow eyes following the flight path taken by his flame haired wife. The predator deep within his soul, the one which up until a few days ago had been sleeping soundly while he immersed himself in family life, had been awakened by the arrival of Tyler Brennan and now urged him to take up the chase.

Rushing to the top of the stairs, Fiona threw open the door and stepped into the warmth and comfort of the hallway of her home. Quickly glancing this way and that, she made her choice and ran towards the family room, slipping inside and shutting the door just in time as she heard her pursuer's steps not far behind her.

With her skin flushed with excitement, the Irishwoman dropped down on to one knee and quickly began to unlace her heavy boots. Her fingers fumbled with the laces as the devil's measured footsteps came ever closer. This was the first time since Finn had been born that they'd had the house completely to themselves for a whole night and the first time in a long time that her beloved had instigated anything so adventurous. The petite redhead was looking forward to enjoying every single second of the game.

The door to the family room was flung open hard enough that it hit the wall with a crash. Fiona was on her feet in an instant, turning just in time as the yellow eyed devil crossed over the threshold. Her heart skipped a beat as the dangerous man before her barred his teeth in a predatory smile.

"You're slipping, Fi... This is the first place I checked."

"Oh, I have me reasons fer choosing this spot." As she spoke, she retreated across the open space until she managed to put one of the three sofas in the room between herself and the tall dark haired hunter. "Ya wonnae find me an easy conquest."

He took a step to the right, she took one to the left. He changed tactics and edged to the left, she went to the right. The whole time they kept their eyes locked on one another as they continued to dance. That was until Michael launched himself across the furniture, using the seat and back rest as if they were steps.

With a shriek, Fiona attempted to skip out of her assailant's reach. But he was too fast, capturing her wrist and with a jerk pulling her into his arms. Struggling to escape his clutches, she twisted and turned grinding her bottom into his groin and throwing her head back against his chest.

"I shan't surrender," she declared and stamped down on his already bruised toes.

"I think you will." He tightened his grip and bit the lobe of her ear again before moving on to her throat, little nips and licks which were driving her wild as she fought to break his hold.

Reaching up, her fingers laced through the long black locks until she was sure she had a firm hold and then she pulled, tearing several of the glued extensions free. When his grip loosened, the former guerrilla used her elbows to pound on his ribs. However, she quickly regretted her decision as she impacted the light body armor still hidden under his bright red shirt.

As she gasped in pain, Michael changed his grasp, intent on turning her around to assess the damage. But his determined beloved slipped away and out of his embrace. Free once more, the Irishwoman made a dash for the door but again wasn't fast enough. One strong hand reached out, managing to snag the back of her jumper.

Feeling the pull, Fiona did the only thing open to her and, with a shrug of her shoulders and an arch of her back, she let the article slip over her head and made another break for it.

But Michael, or Luis as he was, wasn't about to give up either and the grinning yellow-eyed devil was not about to let her go. As she twisted and spun out of her top, he snaked his free arm around her waist, lifting her feet off the ground and sending her across the room and away from the door.

"There is no escape for you." He tossed the jumper to one side and then undid the top two buttons on his shirt. "Resign yourself to your fate, Mrs. McBride."

"Never..." came the reply and with a toss of her tangled hair Fiona regained her feet and faced her relentless opponent. "I'll kick ya arse all tha way back ta tha underworld."

For a few seconds, they circled each other warily. Suddenly without warning, Luis struck again far more aggressively than the slender redhead expected. Using his longer reach, he feinted to the left and then while she was watching his hands, his right leg struck out with a low roundhouse kick, hooking his foot behind her knee and causing her to stumble straight into his arms.

Instantly, he spun her around until held her close to his chest, lifting his chin out of her reach as she attempted to bite her way free while his fingers swiftly liberated her from her bra.

"Yer nae playing fair," she panted. "Ya know full well I cannae risk damaging thot fancy suit yer wearing."

"I know," he agreed. But before she could react to the smugness of his statement, he flipped her around again, pressing her back into his broad chest as his arms crossed over her ribs and his large hands covered her bare breasts. Gripping the pliant flesh tightly, the false nails on his fingers scratched over the rounded mounds while his thumb and forefinger tweaked her hardened nipples.

Fiona arched into him, moaning loudly despite her intentions, rubbing her backside across his rapidly hardening erection. As the Irishwoman squirmed, she shifted her weight, but her husband already knew what was coming. When she went to strike out with her heel, aiming to take out his knee, Michael side stepped and released her, causing his captive to stumble and fall, tripping over and falling onto one of the still upright sofas.

Pressing his advantage, the dark haired devil covered her semi-naked form with his own, using his superior bulk to pin her to the couch while he claimed her mouth and his hands slid between them to unfasten her pants and push them away from her hips. Her own hands tried to still his and then failing that reached for the fancy red buttons.

"Uh, uh, mustn't mess with Debbie's fine shirt," he warned. "You'll be punished for that."

"Oh, no, please, sir, donnae punish me," she begged, undoing them carefully now as his mouth descended on hers again, freeing the material carefully from his fine dress slacks while she surrendered to him. His tongue swirled in her mouth, swallowing her sighs until her teeth tightened and he was forced to pull back before she could bite him.

"Now you'll pay for that," the bright-eyed devil declared harshly. His hands which were already inside her waistband grasped the material and split it along the back seam, tearing her pants in two. He rose up as he pulled the ruined cotton away from her body; taking her thong away with it and leaving her naked save for her dishevelled socks.

Her gasp of shock brought an evil grin to his face. Michael straightened and carefully shrugged out of his shirt, turning slightly to lay it on the arm of the sofa, assuming a momentary superiority in the situation; however, though Fiona may have had lost most her clothing, she hadn't lost her nerve.

She used his moment of distraction to slip by him and away. The vision of her fleeing and slipping in her footwear along the hard wood floor caused him to laugh loud, but it was predacious sound of a hunter targeting his vulnerable prey and the ex-agent dashed after her, his dress boots echoing like thunder in the empty house. Outside, Max's barking grew louder, as the guard dog desperately sought to intervene in what was going on inside. But Michael had other priorities at the moment.

His wife was heading for the stairs, but he cut her off before she could make her escape. The lithe woman skidded as she started to turn towards the kitchen, the source of many potential weapons, but was forced to turn or fall. The redheaded siren slipped into the office, almost catching his arm in the door as she slammed it shut behind her. The demon in pursuit smashed through the wooden barrier, banging it against the wall hard enough to put a dent in it with the door knob.

The noise distracted her and her eyes went wide as he charged towards her. That was her undoing. As she whipped around, the former guerrilla lost her precarious footing and started to fall. Michael snatched her out of the air and deposited her in the arm chair he had slept in the night before. _His revenge would be complete. It couldn't have worked out any better if he had planned it this way._

The oxygen went out of her with a grunt as he landed on top of the auburn haired woman, her wildly flowing locks flying about them when her head snapped back onto the head rest of the chair. Michael kissed her roughly while his hands encompassed her breasts once more, kneading and nails scraping along the sides, and he used the rest of his body to force her legs apart.

"Now, Fiona McBride, you shall pay for your sins," the dark haired man with the shiny eyes intoned and he felt the tantalizing tremor that passed through her. He was painfully hard, but determined that the slender vixen would be repaid in full. Her husband pinned her arms to her sides, and two of the false nails popped off as his fingers dug in. His mouth dropped to her heaving breasts, suckling first one and then the other as she ceased struggling to be free and began to writhe as her captor alternated between applying his tongue and his teeth to the overly sensitive nipples.

Taking a chance, Michael slid his hands down her sides, scratching her as she had so often done to him over the years before settling on her bottom, using his hold on her to raise her up while kissing his way down her trembling body and then pausing right above the thin strip of hair that covered her womanhood. Using his thumbs and his shoulders, he separated her thighs and blew softly on her pink glistening flesh, eliciting a needy whimper of anticipation.

"Are your socks keeping you warm enough?" he queried, his hot breath breathe so close, causing her to squirm. "Or is there something else you want, Fiona McBride?" His lips ghosted over the soft downy curls, never actually touching.

His smile widened as he looked up into her lust filled blue green eyes, the irritation of the contacts in his own completely forgotten. "Ya know whot I want, Luis," and she moaned as he blew on her.

"Say it," he demanded.

"Please… Mr. Cypher…"

He didn't let her finish her sentence. He plunged his face straight into her warm welcoming depths and licked slowly up over her entire womanhood, pausing on the soft hair just above where she wanted his mouth the most and then did it again and again, the scrape of the false beard adding to the sensation against her sensitive skin.

Michel continued to tease his beloved, sweeping around the sweet folds repeatedly and delving into her core, pushing his tongue as deeply as he could manage, what he had mentally vowed to do when Fiona had been the one delightfully tormenting him orally in this very chair.

His beloved bucked and moaned, trying to shift her clit into contact with the delicious pressure and he tightened his grip on her buttocks, the false nails digging into her wriggling ass and snapping off another few of the sharp objects. The lithe pixie's grip on his extended hair grew tighter as her frustration mounted while he spun her out, her guttural groans music to his ears.

" _Say it!"_ the dark haired man ordered, lifting his face damp with her juices away from her center.

" _My-chael!"_ she whined breathlessly and her lover could not torture her any longer. Lapping and suckling on the spot that had suddenly become the focal point of all his attention and her entire universe, her limbs quivering as he drove her to ecstasy and beyond, her fingers wound through his long dark strands pulled painfully at his scalp, more of the faux locks come off in her hands.

Fiona's breathing was reduced to harsh pants and her legs tried to close over his head, but he was relentless until she cried out again, his name almost unintelligible, and then he stopped, only to lightly press his lips to her swollen flesh, causing more aftershocks to run through her quaking body.

"Now we're even," Mr. Luis Cypher intoned before Michael McBride enfolded his wife's slack form in his arms gently, her head lolled against his shoulder. "Come on, luv, thar's more."

Shifting her around until he was carrying her cradled against his chest, he kissed her forehead tenderly while he ascended the stairs towards their bedroom. The redhead put her arms around his neck and pressed butterfly kisses of her own onto his bare neck and collarbone, sighing happily. It felt odd still having the bullet proof vest on, but admittedly it had helped him press his advantage.

Flinging open the door, Michael held her with one hand while he swept away the duvet with the other. _No wet spots allowed on his spouse's prized Hungarian goose down comforter._ Settling her down on the soft sheets, he promised to return and then leaned down to kiss her soundly while her fingers swept lazily over the front of his pants and the rock hard erection straining against the fabric.

When Michael came back from the bathroom, the contacts were gone, the Kevlar and all other pieces of clothing had been removed. She smiled brightly at his dripping manhood prominently on display. He grinned back, noticing she had scooted to the middle of the king-sized mattress and had left her thick socks on. Fiona watched him through passion-glazed eyes, bringing her arms up over her head and splaying her legs open in a gesture of surrender.

"Is thar sommit else ya want, Mrs. McBride?"

"I want ya, Michael, I always have," she rasped, the heat of passion making her voice rough.

As he positioned himself at her entrance, Mr. McBride was reminded of their first night together in that ruin of a place that had once been her childhood home. Though neither of them had been virgins in a long time then, it had felt like such a special first time coupling that he had been almost giddy. He hadn't known then what he knew now. He'd gotten his first taste of making love, not merely having sex. As then, now slipping into her, meeting no resistance from her sated frame, joining with his other half in body and soul was almost overwhelming.

 _They had met the threat head on and won_. _Their enemies were dead, his family was safe…_

He stroked in and out of her slowly, holding her close and peppering her face and neck with kisses and light nips, wanting it to last as long as possible and knowing he was already too near to the edge.

Pumping faster now, his own limbs started to tremble as Fiona raised her hips and changed the angle of penetration, her ankles hooking around his ass and drawing him in deeper. As the euphoria overtook him, his brain to momentarily whited out. He was unsure when he can gone from moving within her sweet center and collapsing on her, his hips twitching reflexively in time with his orgasm.

"I luv ya, Fiona," he whispered, kissing the ear that bore the marks of his teeth, lingering a moment in the grasp of her intimate embrace as her fingers traced patterns in the light moisture on his back.

"I luv ya taa, Michael…" She sighed contently as he withdrew and rolled off of her and then after a few moments the bed as well. Scooping her up once again, he carried her into the bathroom for their night time ritual. Cleaned up and clothed, they nestled into one another's arms before falling into a deep and satisfied slumber.

Down in the kitchen, old Max kept watch over the house from his own bed now, happy that all the noise and movement had ended and his masters were safe and settled in.

 **()()()()()()**

 _Early Morning 3rd November 2017_

Fiona McBride stretched out and reached over to the spot on their large mattress where her husband should be and for the third time in as many days, her hand landed on cold sheets. Sighing, she cracked an eye open, surprised that Finn had not yet demanded her attention even though the sun was peeking through the thin opening between the curtains covering the large window opposite the foot of the bed. Michael was due to be home today and the redhead couldn't wait to see him again.

Rolling onto her back, the tiny cuts and small bruises that decorated her ribs, back and backside no longer stung. A satiated smile spread across her face as she remembered their wild night of passion. Waking up next her own personal predator, his tan face and hands standing in contrast to the smooth skin on the rest of his muscular body, most of the false nails and hair extensions missing, had warmed her soul.

The former terrorist had used that sentiment to keep the other darker feelings that had plagued her at bay for the last seventy two hours. The longer her husband was gone, the more difficult it was becoming to suppress the fear that they had indeed unleashed a demon, one she'd thought had been buried in their past.

Rising up, Fiona pulled a thick robe over one of her beloved's dress shirts and slid her bare feet into her well-worn slippers before padding towards her youngest daughter's room to check on her.

Finn was awake but absorbed with playing with her Upsy Daisy doll. Her baby girl brightened as her mother sailed into the room and lifting her out of the crib, wrapping her up in her favorite blanket and a tight embrace. Pressing kisses to the chubby cheek and causing her to giggle until the words she had dreaded fell from those tiny rosebud lips.

"Whar's Dada?"

"Dada will be home soon," she promised, holding the infant close to her chest while she took her wee one over to the changing table to clean her up for the day. She prayed silently for that to be true.

Fiona fretted that Finn might fall into another crying jag, as the child had done yesterday, nearly inconsolable over her absent father. But fortunately that was not the case this morning and the Irishwoman was utterly relieved when the littlest McBride girl let the matter drop in favor of demanding breakfast. Moving quickly down the stairs, she settled into their morning routine.

The day after Tyler Brennan, his henchman and the band of gypsies who had sought to profit from the sale of stolen Russian naval technology had died in a hail of bullets, her husband had quickly reverted to super spy mode. Luis Cypher was gone, but so was Mr. McBride, swallowed up once again by Michael Westen, determined to finish what they had started the week before.

 _That man_ was resolute that the Russian covert operations team which would no doubt still be pursuing their missing property would not be allowed to set foot upon the Emerald Isle in search of it. He had set about with the help of her brothers and Colin's friend Murph to ensure that purloined thumb drive, and the various copies they had made, ended up in the right hands all the way around.

Even though she knew it was necessary, each time the dark haired man made contact with someone from his past life in intelligence, Fiona's fears grew that the siren song of the spy life would take root in his mind and worse yet his heart. Alternating between anxieties and harshly reminding herself that _she did not worry_ , Mrs. McBride had set about returning her household to order while trying to reassure her little ones as well as herself that there was nothing to be concerned about.

Daddy had gone on a business trip to the Middle East with Uncle Shay and Uncle Liam. Since their uncles travelled often, the twins had accepted the news as logical; however, that didn't stop them from missing their father or finding his recent disappearance from their lives as extremely troubling. Spending time when not in school with their grandmother and their array of cousins had somewhat softened the blow.

But they didn't know that their Dad had been covertly in contact with his old asset in Russia, Anton Yelchin, to see to it the original thumb drive was returned to the FSB along with the bodies of Ivan and Petru Dementer, who had conveniently saved them all the trouble of transporting them alive to meet their fate by trying to escape Liam's custody. Once the three men delivered the corpses and the intel via dead drop in Libya, her older brothers and her beloved were free to make their way home.

Comrade Yelchin would tell his contacts in the Motherland that he caught someone trying to sell him the tech. The Russians wouldn't know for sure who had copies, but their intelligence would have told them there was a blood bath in Ireland, killing the sellers and the buyer. Returning the drive and the Dementer men who had ended up with it, albeit dead and unable to be questioned, would close the circle and keep the FSB out of their backyard.

Colin and his friend Murph had taken care of the other piece of the puzzle. All that Michael's former MI6 handler and now Home Office Liaison to Dublin, Sir Richard Chambers OBE, had to do to get his own copy of the plans was make sure he backed Yelchin's story where the Russians eavesdropped on his communications with his superiors that their some-time asset had been asked to decrypt a gold mine by the now deceased notorious arms merchant who had been trying to buy it.

Fiona sighed again as she cleaned the food off of Finn's face with a soft wet cloth and recalled that even offering to spread the spray tan all over Michael's body personally to even up its application hadn't gotten his attention once there was a plan in place to finish the mission. The twins and their Daddy were due to be home for lunch, one from a morning at the stables riding their ponies and the other from an op with her brothers, and she tried her best to remind herself that this was just her husband being thorough and trying to protect them instead of immersing in the adrenaline addiction of covert life.

 **()()**

"Ya promised Daddy would be back at lunchtime." Claire sulked as she pushed her plate across the table. "He's been gone fer ages."

"He'll be home soon and he has nae been gone fer ages. He's only been gone fer a week," Fiona corrected her daughter with a bright smile, snatching up the twins' empty plates before turning away so they couldn't see the concern on her face.

Michael had called over an hour earlier to say they had all arrived safely back on the ground after their flight from a remote airfield outside Tripoli in the hold of a cargo plane belonging to one of Seamus's associates. _So whot wa' keeping him?_ Seamus' friend had his own flight school and air freight business twenty miles away, close to Dublin Airport. The journey home shouldn't have taken him more than half an hour. _Wa' he having second thoughts? Had chasing around tha world on illicit flights an' meeting up wit' his old spy friends given him doubts about living life as a family man?_

"D'ya think Daddy will have remembered ta get us a present?" Sean piped up.

"I donnae know if he had time ta go shopping, Sean-boy. He's away helping yar Uncle Shay. Ya'll just have ta wait an' see... Why don't ya both go an' watch some telly – an' take Finn wit' ya." She turned to lift her baby girl out of the high chair and then waited for Sean and Claire to take their little sister's hands so she could walk across the hall to the family room.

It was just as they cleared the kitchen door that Max let loose a loud woof and trotted towards the front door where Michael stood freeing his key from the lock.

"Daddy!" The twins shouted in unison, letting go of their sister's hands to rush head long towards the front door, throw themselves into their father's arms before he had had a chance to close the heavy oak door behind him.

As Fiona went to rescue Finn from where her youngest girl had been abandoned in the middle of the hall, she could only watch as her errant husband swept his eldest children into his arms, kissing their cheeks and then the tops of their heads.

"Claire, Sean." He hugged them tightly, but his eyes were on his wife and the smile he sent her way blew away all Fiona's concerns for their future.

"Did ya miss us?" Claire inquired.

"Whar' did ya go?" Sean demanded. "Mammy said ya wa' on an aeroplane."

"Wa' it hot?" she added.

"O' course it wa' hot, Claire, can ya nae see tha tan?" her brother scoffed.

"D'ya get us a present?" the eldest girl asked.

Finally the two mini interrogators reached the crux of the matter, their eyes alighting on the flight bag that still stood on the door step.

"Shall I get ya case fer ya, Da?" Sean had already pulled out his sire's arms to reach for the luggage he hope held something new and exciting.

"I-" Michael hopelessly over to his beloved and shrugged his shoulders.

"Claire, Sean-boy, let yar Da get inta tha house... Take his bag an' we'll all go inta tha family room. Am sure yar Daddy needs ta have a rest after his long flight."

"Hi." Mr. McBride smiled and drew his wife into his arms as the twins took off with his small suitcase, already beginning to argue about who was going to get their present first.

"Hi yarself," she answered and placed a peck to his cheek. "Please tell me it's over wit'?"

"It's over," he sighed and lifted Finn into his arms, laughing when his baby girl grabbed at his face with her chubby fingers. "Wa're free an' clear."

He attempted to place a kiss on her forehead but the littlest miss of the household was having none of it as she gripped his cheeks firmly, her sharp blue eyes so much like her paternal grandmother's gazing back at him.

"Dada," she scrubbed her palm over his face and looked at her palm. "Dada, diirrtee."

"Yes, daddy is very dirty." Fiona chuckled. "I'll have ta make sure he has a proper bath later."

"Thot one tis mine!" Claire-Michelle's voice echoed loud and clear through the house.

"Thar exactly tha same, Claire."

"If thar tha same you can have this one... Now give it har, Sean."

At that moment the sounds of childish voices raised in argument was interrupted by a crash and a howl of pain.

"We should -" Michael was already striding towards the family room, his baby girl in his arms with Fiona in hot pursuit.

 _You can learn good self-defense fighting with students in a class, but great self-defense... That you pick up fighting with your family._

The first howl was joined by the other twin's shrieking as the two seven year olds began to fight in earnest, not even pausing as they rolled across the floor locked in deadly combat.

"They get this fram your side o' tha family, ya know thot, McBride." Fiona grinned as she tried to pull the warring siblings apart.

"Mine?" Michael protested as he leaned down to rescue the two matching snow globes that he had brought for the twins which had been discarded on the floor. "How does tha saying go? An Irishman is nae at peace except when he's fighting. I'd say they take after their mammy's side o' tha family. Thot's pure Glenanne temper on display, thot is."

"Oh, ya wanta see some Glenanne temper, do ya now?"

The petite Irishwoman fixed a stern look on her face, glaring down at her twin offspring, each struggling to free their forearms from within their mother's tight grasp and hissing insults at one another under their breath.

"Shut it, tha pair o' ya! Yar Da's been home all o' five minutes and yer both acting tha fool. Why he might just get back on tha plane an' go back what he came from rather than listen ta tha pair o' ya carrying like crazy people."

The two warring siblings had the good sense to at least appear abashed.

"Donnae go!" the raven haired girl pleaded, wrapping herself around her father's leg as she was released.

"We'll be good," her brother promised as he wrapped his arms around the man's other leg. "It wa' all Claire's fault anyway."

"Sean-boy... Donnae start up again," his mother warned as she came to her husband's side. Slipping under his free arm, she wrapped her own arms around his waist and stared up into those soulful blue eyes. "What d'ya think, Mr. McBride? Ar' ya ready ya jump on a plane an' be off again?"

Michael's dazzling smile lit up the room, warming the hearts of his family as he looked at each of them in turn with love and adoration written all over his face.

"I cannae think o' anywhar I'd rather be."

And when he leaned down to kiss their mother softly, none of the children protested, not even the littlest one made a sound. Michael McBride was home with his family, who were safe and sound, and it was exactly where he wanted to be.


End file.
